Pollution
by kaut
Summary: Rewinding back to that space of time in between season's 6&7. Canon. Case File. Some grisly murders have the team spinning. Rated M due to graphic nature.
1. Prologue

**Pollution**

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. I'm just borrowing. Please let me borrow in peace.

**Prologue**

_November, 2004  
__Cambridge, Massachusetts_

_Stopping in his tracks, he stood and listened as the crunching sounds of footsteps on hardened snow became more distant. The pace hadn't been hurried though, and he knew that so far, he'd gone undetected. Tightening his jacket around him to ward off the chill of the windy November night, he began walking again, this time more briskly. He continued to follow the shadowy form before him, studying him, eyes narrowing in anger as the form moved onto the street. If he continued to follow where lights illuminated the street, he'd be discovered. The thief would know. He couldn't risk giving himself away, and so, he let the thief go, for the time being._

_It became a game, the thief taking, and he following. With each episode, he became more brazen in his pursuit, fueled by anger and indignation, and he resolved to teach the thief a lesson. In this society, to turn the thief in would merely result in a slap on the wrist. Other societies would be less forgiving. In other societies, such arrogant behavior would have far more severe consequences, and it was time the thief personally learned of those penalties. He began to plan and waited for the right moment to enact that plan._

_He put the plan into motion the very next night he caught the thief stealing, again taking from him, overconfident in his actions as though he'd never be caught. How dare the thief be so bold, show such disrespect? That the thief had chosen to take from him that night only intensified his fury. He would not tolerate such arrogance any longer. He searched through his possessions until he found an old relic, one that his associates didn't know about and couldn't be traced back to him. Weapon in hand, he pulled on a hooded cloak and followed the thief out into the night._

_The moon, nearly full, lit the night sky, illuminating both his form, and the thief's form more than it had any of the previous nights he'd followed the thief. Feeling the need to exercise utmost caution he glanced around, relieved to see no other souls milling about, before cutting between paths in quick strides and ducking behind the trunk of a large, leafless, tree, waiting for the thief to come to him. He knew the thief's route, had followed the thief multiple times. It was only a matter of seconds before the thief would unknowingly cross his path. He waited, raising his arm up when he heard the sounds of the thief's footsteps on the snow-crusted path. When the thief was beside him, he brought the handle of his weapon down on the back of the thief's shoulder, knocking the thief to the ground. Hood over his head, hiding his features, he stared down at the thief with mockery. His eyes were ablaze and he felt a grim satisfaction to read the fear…no, the terror in the thief's eyes. In one swift movement, he took hold of the thief's arm with his free hand, pinning it to the cold ground. Just as quickly, his weapon wielding hand rose up and came back down, slicing off the thief's hand at the wrist. The thief's pained scream echoed in the night, blending in and dying with the howling of the eastern winds. He stood slowly, looking down at the young man bleeding on the ground below him. The thief looked up at him, shock and abject horror marring the innocent young features. He only smirked at the thief from beneath his hood. The experience left him feeling mad, exhilarated in a way he'd never before imagined. It had unleashed something powerful within him. He stared down at the crimson blood streaming across the white ground and creeping towards his feet, and he took a step back before disappearing into the night. _


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

_September 2nd, 2006  
__Las Vegas, Nevada  
__12:03 AM_

He slowed to a near stop, observing his team as he entered the break room. Greg was hovering almost possessively over the pot of coffee brewing on the counter, which was so unsurprising, Grissom had to shake his head to stop the laugh from coming out. From Greg, his eyes wandered over to Nick, who was sitting in a reclining chair, eating an apple and ribbing Greg with a giant grin on his face. Grissom's gaze continued to move along, coming to a stop on Catherine and Warrick. The pair was seated at the table, hunched over a file. The stress lines across their faces were noticeable, and Grissom found his eyes fixed on them. He watched as Warrick ran a hand through his unkempt hair and Catherine's hand came up and gave Warrick's shoulder a slight squeeze. Neither of their eyes left the file in front of them. Their case was clearly getting to them and the pressure from the Sheriff and Under Sheriff, as well as the media attention their case was attracting, wasn't making their jobs any easier. Grissom cleared his throat. "Warrick? Catherine?" Both sets of eyes peeked up from behind the file. He could clearly see the anxiety and the fatigue in them. "How's the case coming along?"

"It's not." Warrick sighed in frustration and Grissom commiserated, knowing how hard cases like this could try on people. It was one of the reasons he chose to hand it off to Warrick and Catherine when he wasn't able to pull away from his and Sara's own high profile case, knowing he could trust the pair to handle it and treat it with dignity. He also knew they'd do everything in their power to solve it.

"We haven't been able to find any evidence. I don't get it. How can someone get away with something like this and nobody see anything?"

He smiled in sympathy. "Keep working on it Warrick. Go back to the hospital. You and Catherine will turn something up."

The pair nodded and rose, leaving him in the break room with Greg and Nick, both men looking anxious as they waited for him to continue on. "Nick, you have court tomorrow?"

"Yeah."

"Alright, take the smash and grab. It'll give you a chance to leave earlier and have some time to prepare and rest before court tomorrow."

"Yes, Sir." Nick rose, tossing the remainder of his apple in the garbage as he took the slip from Grissom's hand and exited the room.

"Greg, you and I have a 419. Woman's body found in a motel just off the strip."

_12:22 AM_

There was a slight wind carrying up bits and pieces of trash, the lights from the motel and police cars illuminating sheets of newspaper and plastic bags as they danced in the air. Grissom and Greg stepped out of the Denali and headed towards the door of the motel room where police officers and EMTs were milling about. Seeing Sofia's ashen face among them, Grissom grabbed his kit and sauntered over to the huddle. While other officers seemed to look pale and sick, it was Sofia's face he concentrated on, not used to seeing her normally collected features look so pallid. "Are you alright?"

Sofia nodded, her lips pursed, as if she were afraid to open her mouth.

"What have we got?"

"Dead woman on the bed. No id yet. Anonymous call in. Clerk in the office didn't even know what happened until we showed up." Sofia paused a moment, looking at him. Her voice was soft. "It's bad, Gil."

"Must be. David here yet?"

"No."

He nodded and looked towards the door before looking back to Sofia. She glanced to the door and quickly looked away. He studied her, unsure of what he should do in this situation. Finally he placed a tentative hand on her shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. "You're sure you're alright?"

"Yeah, will be. Look, I'm going to go speak to the clerk and see when the manager is arriving."

"Okay."

She turned and left immediately. He picked up his kit and nodded for Greg to follow. He made it to the doorway before stopping suddenly and wiping his hand over his face. Taking a moment to adjust to the sight in front of him, he took a deep breath, and then entered the room.

"Holy shit."

He turned and washed the color drain from Greg's face. "Greg?"

"I know, sorry. I just need a minute."

"Yeah," he mumbled under his breath as he turned back to stare at the woman on the bed. "Alright?"

"Yep." Greg's voice was strained and entirely unconvincing, but he let it pass.

"Okay, you can, um, check the floor for footprints and compare to the EMTs' and responding officers. Then, you can begin printing. I'll handle the photos for now."

"Thanks, Grissom."

"Yeah."

"Oh my God." David's voice came from behind and Grissom turned just in time to see the coroner bolting from the room. He took a deep breath and followed David out into the cluster of police officers. David stood in the middle, hunched over and taking shallow breaths while one of the officers patted him on the back. "Sorry, this is the kind of scene I can't get used to. I'm okay now. I'm sorry Grissom."

"It's alright."

David stood up, walking through the opening police officers made and back into the room. Grissom followed, passing by a staring Greg in the doorway. He stood beside David and looked down at the naked woman bound, spread-eagle, to the bed at the ankles and wrists. She had fabric sticking out of her mouth from what appeared to be a gag. Blood covered her vagina and pooled between her legs. Streams where the blood broke out of the pool meandered along the shower curtain beneath her body. "David, liver temp?"

"Huh." He'd startled David, awakening the young man from his unconscious state. "Right, one second."

David moved over the body, inserting the thermometer into the corpse and took a reading. "She's only been dead an hour."

"Thanks."

He snapped more photos, carefully documenting the body, the ties that held her in place, the shower curtain she was placed on, and the gag sticking partially out of the mouth. "Okay to move her?"

"Yeah."

Grabbing a pair of tweezers, he carefully removed the gag from the dead woman's mouth and throat. He held it up and studied it, finding the scarf similar to the ones binding the woman to the bed. "Greg, snap a photo."

Flashes from Greg's camera lit the dark room. "Evidence bag?" Greg grabbed a bag and held it open, allowing Grissom to drop the scarf into it. He took the bag from Greg, sealing it and placing it in his kit. "Grab some scissors. We'll cut the ties off. I want to preserve the knots for now."

One by one, they cut the ties, placing each piece in a separate evidence bag and snapping photos as they worked. Grissom turned the woman's wrist, and lifted his camera to document the bruising. His eyes wandered up the arm, taking in the numerous track marks running down from her elbow. "Greg, do you see any needles or drugs around?"

"Grissom?"

"Hmm?"

"There's nothing in here. This room's clean."

"What do you mean?" He lifted his head, quirking an eyebrow at Greg.

"It's clean. Look around. I bet this is the cleanest this room has ever been, maybe since the motel opened."

Grissom frowned but allowed himself to look around the room. The woman's body had grabbed hold of his attention the moment he entered and he hadn't yet been able to shift his attention to take in the rest of the room. When he did, he realized that Greg was right. Apart from a few footprints on the floor, the room was immaculately clean, cleaner than the staff of the cheap motel would ever care to bother with. His finger ran along the edge of the bedside table and picked up barely a speck of dust. Grissom squeezed his eyes shut, pinched the bridge of his nose and opened his lids again. "Grab the manager and ask to look at the vacant rooms, see what the standard for cleanliness is here."

"I'm on it."

He watched Greg leave the room and turned to David, who was leaning on a stretcher and again staring at the body. "We can remove the body now, David."

David nodded and moved to the woman's shoulders. Grissom moved to the ankles and they carefully lifted the woman from off of the shower curtain and onto the body bag lying on the stretcher. David zipped the bag closed and pushed the stretcher from the room. When Greg reentered, Grissom saw the overwhelming relief on the young man's face.

"The manager opened up the room next door. Cleaning job wasn't nearly as thorough, minimal required effort, though the manager did say it would have been done by the same housekeeper."

He nodded and bent down, running a latex hand over the carpet. "I think this carpet's been steam cleaned."

"The door and the walls were wiped down with some sort of cleaning agent. I doubt it was the housekeeper. The killer had to be uber-prepared."

"What do you make of this shower curtain?"

Greg shrugged. Grissom studied it, snapping photos as he did. "Maybe it was cleaner than the blankets on the bed? Easier to remove trace?"

"You think the killer cleaned up after? The woman has only been dead about a couple of hours now."

"And the call came in to the lab not long before assignments, which places the call only about ten to fifteen minutes after TOD. It would have had to have been a quick clean up."

"So the steam job and the wipe down of the walls had to have occurred before."

"Unless our killer was doing it while the woman was lying on the bed, dying. We'll have to wait for COD to see if that's a possibility, though. If she died due to a slow hemorrhage, the killer might have had time. If not, well then he or she had to have cleaned up before."

"Before he committed the crime and had to worry about trace? That doesn't make sense."

"It does if it wasn't trace the killer was worried about. He or she could have been worried about hygiene."

"That's messed up."

Grissom shrugged. "Maybe this was an accident. Maybe all this wasn't supposed to result in death."

Greg shuddered. "What was he doing then? Performing some sort of motel room abortion?"

"There was that case just over a year and a half ago, where a therapist was using a storage facility to perform gender reassignment surgery."

"Right, I remember that. I am so relieved I never walked in on that scene. I don't think I would have made it to the field."

"Yeah." Grissom's voice was soft, thinking back to the graphic pictures he'd seen of the scene Catherine, Nick and Warrick had discovered. The scene he and Greg were processing hadn't been much better when they first walked in. He was relieved and thankful that Nick, Catherine and Warrick were spared from seeing this scene after having to deal with that other one, even if it was some time ago. He was even more thankful Sara had left for a conference the afternoon before, or she'd be the one in the motel room with him now. He sighed. "If he or she was using the motel room to perform an abortion…or some other kind of surgery, I don't think the victim consented. She was gagged and bound to the bed."

"Maybe he didn't have anything to knock her out with, or figured she was high and wouldn't feel it, but she began flailing and screaming and he had to tie her down keep her quiet. It could explain what went wrong."

"Don't get tied up to one theory, Greg, though it would help to explain why the room is so clean. If the killer was planning on performing some sort of medical procedure in a cheap motel, sterilization would be an issue." He paused and pursed his lips, staring down at the bed. "I can't make out the shower curtain, though. If the killer was performing an underground abortion, wouldn't he or she bring in clean sheets, or clean plastic? Greg, check the bathroom and see if it has a shower curtain."

"Yeah, maybe we'll find needles in there. If she was using, she may have shot up in the…" Greg's voice died as he reached the entrance way to the bathroom. "Grissom?"

"Yeah?"

"I think you need to come look at this."

"What is it?" He moved in behind Greg and looked. There was no shower curtain. He looked over at Greg and his eyes wandered down, following Greg's gaze. On the floor, in the middle of the room, as though it was part of a presentation, was a white towel. On the towel were two bloody scalpels. Beneath the scalpels, a carved out wooden bowl sat holding its bloody contents.

"Is that…is that what I think it is?"

He closed his eyes and nodded before taking a deep breath. _If the evidence changes, so must the theory._ "Once we wash down the victim we'll know for sure, but I don't think this was an abortion gone wrong."


	3. Chapter 2

**A/N: **Sorry, I'm a complete idiot. I forgot to add the date to the last chapter. I've updated the previous chapter to include the date, but if you don't want to go back, the date for the crime scene they're investigating in chapter 1 is Sept. 2, 2006. Sorry again.

Chapter 2

_6:41 AM_

The image stuck with him. Hours after the young woman's body had been taken from the room, Greg could still see her lying spread eagle on the hotel room bed. The horrific scene wasn't leaving his mind, and probably wouldn't until he could get out of that room. Soon. Soon they'd be done, leaving the hotel room with almost no evidence to account for. There was the body, the bloody scalpels and the bloody towel, an unaccounted for footprint, size 11 if he were to hazard a guess, a needle, yes, they'd found a needle, placed on top of the toilet's tank, presented in a way that seemed to match the presentation of the scalpels, and then, there was the bowl; he'd never forget the bowl. They had also found a cell phone, sitting closed on the edge of the bathtub, wiped clean of course, and if Greg was to guess, he'd surmise that it was a disposable, and most likely the cell phone that made the anonymous 911 call. Absent from the usual array of evidence was everything else. After spending hours combing through the room, they hadn't found any fibers, hadn't lifted any usable fingerprints, hadn't discovered any hairs, and really hadn't recovered any trace from a room that would normally be teeming with it.

They also didn't have a clue. Apart from the footprint, they didn't have anything to go on. Greg had spoken with Sofia and with the clerk at the office, and with the motel's manager, and neither the manager nor the clerk could describe the person who rented the room for the night, and neither could give any hints about who the woman was either. Apparently their business operates better when details aren't observed or remembered. He wondered if the clerk even bothered to look at the man renting the motel room when he checked the man in. If the TV blaring in the corner and the clerk's obvious clueless face were anything to go on, then no, the clerk couldn't have cared less who'd rented the room that night. No age, height, weight, eye color, nothing, the clerk gave them nothing. Wait, not true. He did give a name. The killer registered as Emile Durkheim. At first Greg was excited, thinking that maybe the killer had slipped up and given his real name, because maybe the woman wasn't supposed to die. It seemed to fit, as usually when someone plans on committing a crime in a shady motel, they usually use a name that is so obviously fake, like Joe Smith, or, quite often, register as someone famous, like Joe Pesci, a rather common one for Vegas. His hopes were dashed moments later, when Grissom informed him that Emile Durkheim was someone famous, an important sociologist or something, and that the likelihood that the killer's name was actually Emile Durkheim was around the same likelihood that the killer's real name was Joe Pesci. So as far as witnesses go, the clerk was useless.

Greg watched Grissom pack up his kit, as he did the same thing. While Grissom loaded the Denali, he hung back with Sofia, glancing every so often to the door of the hotel room. "Do you miss being a CSI?"

"Sometimes. Nights like this, no. I would have hated to process that. Being the detective assigned to this was hard enough."

"Is it any easier to be the detective?"

"Well, I'm more detached from the crime scene, so that can make it easier to deal with the stuff that goes on, but I have to deal with more people, so it can draw you in that way…and it's…more dangerous."

"Yeah. You heard from Brass?"

Sofia gave off a soft laugh. "Yeah. He's been grumbling to the doctors. They're letting him out in a day or so, then it's bed rest."

"He'll go crazy."

"I doubt he'll last long. Jim will find something to do. I'm sure we'll see him in PD pulling desk duty soon."

Greg looked at Sofia and pondered her words. He gave her a small smile. "I'm looking forward to that sight."

"Me too."

He nodded before glancing over at the Denali. Grissom had the driver's side door open and was leaning against it, waiting for him. "Well, I guess it's time to hit the lab. See you later."

"Right, later, Greg. Take it easy, okay?"

"Yeah, will do." He gave her a small wave as he walked away. Grissom saw him moving and climbed into the driver's seat. Greg made his way around the vehicle and took his place in the passenger's seat. He stared at the hotel through the side window as Grissom started the car and pulled out of the motel parking lot.

_7:24 AM_

The temperature in the morgue felt cooler than usual, or maybe it was the body on the table that caused the chill to run up Grissom's spine as soon as he walked through the doors. Dr. Al Robbins looked up at him as he entered, before turning back to the body on the table. Grissom stepped closer to the body, clutching an evidence bag containing the wooden bowl in his hands. Doc Robbins raised an eyebrow at Grissom as he approached, peering at the bloody mess in the wooden bowl. "You have the missing parts?"

"So it is…"

"Excision, Type II Female Genital Cutting." Doc Robbins stood up from his stool and walked down along the body, coming to a stop in front of the pelvic region. It was strange, but as Doc Robbins hobbled down the body, all Grissom could focus on was the sound Doc Robbins's cane made on the cold, hard floor. "Gil, put down your bowl and take a look at this." Grissom's head snapped up as he took his eyes off of the cane. He stared at the Medical Examiner for a moment before turning and placing the bowl on another table. He turned again and hunched down beside Doc Robbins, looking down at the body. Now that the victim had been washed, Grissom could see what they were dealing with. Despite being a seasoned criminalist, the sight still caused his breath to catch and his stomach to turn.

"See how the clitoris, labia minora and labia majora have been totally removed?" Grissom nodded. "Type IIc FGC." There was a pause as both Grissom and Doc Robbins stood upright. "I've been a medical examiner for thirty-four years and this is the first time I've seen this."

Grissom paused contemplating before asking, "Can you tell if there are any other signs of other sexual assault?"

"What she must have gone through is assault enough, but you're wondering if she was raped. I can't tell; there's too much damage. I did check for semen. There wasn't any present."

He nodded, expecting the answer. It had taken too much preparation to clean the room before. The violence the woman endured prior to her death was all about the mutilation. He doubted that a killer that concerned with creating such a hygienic crime scene would have risked contaminating it to rape the victim. "Do you have COD?"

"Myocardial Infarction."

"Heart attack."

"Caused by shock. The severe pain and hemorrhage would have triggered it."

"There are track marks running up her arm."

"I sent a blood panel to tox. They'll be able to tell you what drugs were in her system. I can tell you what her last meal was. She dined on French fries."

Grissom cocked his head to the side. "French fries? That's it?"

"That's all of her stomach contents."

"Anything else?"

"Yes." Doc Robbins walked over, cane knocking on the floor, to a side table, picking up a tray. Grissom joined him and watched as Doc Robbins took a pair of tweezers and held up a fiber. "I found this in the victim's throat."

"I'll take it to trace, but it's likely a fiber from a scarf used to gag the victim."

Grissom took the tweezers and dropped the fiber into an evidence envelope, sealing it and placing it in his pocket. He looked back at the table at the sealed wooden bowl. "Can you take the cuttings out of the bowl, take DNA and clean them for me? I want to print the victim and see if I can't come up with an id."

"I'll take care of it, Gil."

"Thank you."

_8:18 AM_

Catherine watched as Greg stared at the contents inside the open fridge, but didn't move to take anything out. She raised her eyebrows as Greg's form didn't move at all. It was as if the contents of the fridge mesmerized him. "Hey Greg, are you going to grab something to eat, or are you going to stand there with the fridge open all morning."

Greg turned to her, letting the fridge door close. "Sorry Catherine, I know I need to eat, but somehow I don't think I could stomach it."

"Tough case?"

"Brutal."

"Hmm. You look tired."

"The night certainly has been draining. How's your case going?"

"Horribly. We can't find anything. I finally got Warrick to go home. I'm about to head out myself."

"Lucky you."

Giving Greg an understanding smile, she placed her coffee mug in the sink and turned to leave. Just as she made it out of the room, she ran into Grissom in the hall. "Oh good Catherine, you're still here. Have you seen Greg?"

"He's in the break room."

"Can you join us?"

She sighed, knowing that he wouldn't keep her from going home if it wasn't important. "Sure, why not?"

Greg gave her a funny look when she walked back into the break room and sat down at the table. She shrugged. "Best laid plans right?" Grissom raised an eyebrow, but she shook her head, telling him to forget it. Greg sat across from her and they both looked up at Grissom.

"What did the autopsy show?"

"She died of a heart attack, triggered by shock."

"What about…"

"FGC. Female Genital Cutting."

"You mean mutilation."

Catherine's mouth opened wide as her eyes moved frantically between Grissom and Greg. Keeping her eyes focused on Grissom, she stared until his face turned away. When she looked back to Greg, she only saw him nodding sadly. "You're kidding?"

"No. Someone removed all of the external genitalia."

Catherine winced and felt a little ill. She couldn't help but imagine what it must have been like. "Was she at least knocked out first?" She looked up at Grissom and watched as he shook his head.

"I just came from tox. Henry gave me the results from the blood panel. There were trace amounts of heroine in the blood, but no other drugs were found."

"Trace amounts?" Greg's voice sounded so disbelieving to Catherine's ears.

"Yes. She would have injected earlier in the day."

"So she wasn't high when her vagina was being sliced apart?"

"No. She would have been lucid enough to feel everything."

"My God," Catherine looked between the two men, shaking her head as she took in their words. "The pain must have been…unimaginable. What do you need me to do?"

"You still have your own case to work on. I was hoping you could break from it long enough to look at the crime scene photos and see if you can come up with any theories that might help us."

"Sure thing."

"You know what you'll be looking at?"

Catherine forced herself to give Grissom a half smile. "I think you've prepared me…and I think it won't be to far off from a scene I've already been witness to before."

Grissom winced. "Catherine, the killer left the labia and the clitoris and placed them in a bowl. The crime scene reads like a presentation."

"That's sick."

"Yeah. Greg, did you get anything on the shoe tread?"

"Yeah, it's a New Balance slip on walking shoe, model number: 750, size 11. It's fairly common shoe."

"Okay, I dropped off prints to Mandy. Hopefully she'll get us an id. If she can't, try to get one. If Mandy can get you an id, take Sofia and check the victim's last known address, see if the neighbors can give you any information about our victim."

Greg stood up and left the room, leaving Catherine with Grissom. "What are you going to do?"

"I have a 911 call and a phone to trace. Then, I'll go over the crime scene photos with you."

Catherine nodded and watched Grissom head to the door. She waited until Grissom left before taking a deep breath and picking up the folder Grissom had left for her on the table. Her hands opened the file slightly before she shut it again. She would take it into her office to look.


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

_8:55 AM_

One page and Greg was back into the print lab. He'd only left moments before, tired of watching Mandy ply her trade. He'd decided to grab a cup of coffee as he reserves were wearing down, and had barely made it to the break room when the page brought him back. He entered the room and waited for Mandy to speak. She turned to him with her trademark mischievous smile. "I've got an id. Wanda Collins, 22 years old."

"She was in AFIS?"

"Picked up on a trick roll two months ago."

"Trick roll? So the victim was a…"

"Lady of the night."

"She must work the neighborhood we found her in. Last known address?"

Mandy gave him an address and he was out the door, giving a wave goodbye as he left. Pulling out his cell phone, he made a quick call to Sofia, asking her to pick him up outside the lab.

_9:51 AM_

Sofia pulled up to the lab parking lot and watched as Greg jumped up from a seated position on the curb and hopped into the car. "Took you long enough."

"Greg, you woke me up. I had to shower and dress. It takes thirty-five to forty minutes to get to the lab in the morning traffic from my place. I haven't eaten yet. I stopped just long enough to pick us both up a cup of coffee. I think I made good time."

"Coffee?"

She grinned. "Yeah Greg, you thirsty?"

"I could use a coffee."

Sofia smiled and handed him a cup. She took a sip of her own before placing it back in the cup holder. "Our victim was a prostitute?"

"Yep."

"Makes sense. It would explain why it didn't look as though the victim struggled at all. The killer probably offered good money to tie her to the bed."

"She blindly agrees to being tied up, not knowing it would lead to a cruel death."

"There's no way she'd agree to it if she knew what was about to happen."

"I wonder if the killer found it morbidly poetic to cut the clitoris off of a prostitute."

Sofia shuddered. "I bet he thought he had quite the imagination."

"Sometimes when I think I've been a criminalist for a couple years now, I had to have seen almost everything, then something like this happens and it shocks the hell out of me."

"Greg, I've been doing this kind of work for about thirteen years now and I haven't yet gotten used to these kinds of cases yet. It's a test of endurance."

"I feel like I've aged more in these past two years than the rest of the years combined. Any innocent views I had before have been obliterated. This work really shakes a guy up."

"Hmm," Sofia muttered in agreement. She pursed her lips and let out a sigh, focusing on the road. It wasn't until they pulled up to the victim's neighborhood did she speak again. "Ready to burn a little shoe rubber, Greg?"

_4:32 PM_

Despite the graphic and vile nature of the crime, it managed to escape media coverage. Without the details of the case, all the media saw was another dead hooker in another dirty motel. The manager of the motel, wanting to keep the place as under the radar as possible, wasn't about to leak details either. The report across the newswire merely stated that a prostitute was brutally murdered in a hotel room. The media's attention was far too focused on Warrick and Catherine's case and never gave Grissom's another look. And, he was thankful for it. If the media were to get the details, they'd be all over it and Grissom knew that it was just what the killer wanted. The person who'd mutilated the prostitute went to great lengths to create a presentation. While glossing over the death of a young woman was extremely sad, Grissom was relieved that they wouldn't be indulging the killer's quest for attention. The killer certainly had his attention, and that was enough.

The afternoon had passed slowly. Hodges had confirmed the fiber in the victim's throat had matched the scarf shoved into the victim's mouth. Archie had confirmed that the 911 call had been placed by the cell phone found at the scene, and that the cell phone was a disposable, untraceable. Wendy had confirmed that all the blood found in the motel room, on the shower curtain, the scalpels, the bloody bowl, all belonged to the victim. He and Catherine had poured over the photos, trying to make sense of the crime. After he'd sent her home, he continued to look at the photos, one by one, until his eyes blurred and he could not longer make out the details he'd already committed to memory. When he did look up from the photos strewn across his desk, he found Greg standing in the doorway. It startled his tired mind. He frowned at Greg in the doorway. "How long have you been standing there?"

"I was just about to knock."

"How did the search with Sofia go?"

"Victim worked an area two blocks from the motel. Lots of people recognized her but they're all being tight-lipped. Nobody we spoke to could, or was willing, to tell us who she went off with last night. We did discover she had a pimp, a Mitch Munz. Sofia brought him in for questioning. We figured that he might have done it as some sort of depraved punishment for something she might have done, like stiffing him or trying to leave him. He didn't say a thing, but it didn't fit anyways. He had an alibi. If he was involved, he'd have to have gotten someone else to do the dirty work. And, his feet were only a size 9. Sofia let him go."

"He couldn't tell you if she went off with someone?"

"He wasn't saying a thing."

"So, we're no further than we were this morning?"

Greg shook his head. "You didn't find anything?"

"I just confirmed what we suspected all along. The untracable, disposable cell made the call, the blood all belonged to the victim, and the fiber Doc Robbins found in the victim's throat was from the scarf used to gag her."

"Great, so now what?"

"Now you go home and get some rest. You've been working for seventeen hours."

"I want to, but I don't know if I could sleep. That image isn't leaving my head any time soon."

"You'll max out on overtime very early this month if you don't go home. Try to get some sleep. I'll see you tonight."

Greg nodded and left. Grissom watched the scene from his desk before looking down at the photos again, ignoring his own advice. He was exhausted, but the last thing he wanted to do was go home to his townhouse, knowing how lonely it would feel that night. He preferred to stay in the lab where, at least he could feel a pulse around him. He'd go home soon, and be at home just long enough to catch a little sleep before shift. He picked up another photo and began to contemplate what kind of a mind would commit such an atrocious crime and why a woman would agree to be tied down to a sterilized shower curtain, no matter how much money she was offered. He didn't even want to contemplate the pain she must have suffered. He closed his eyes, maybe just a quick nap in his office.


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

_Sunday, September 3__rd__, 2006  
__12:01 AM_

Clutching the multiple slips tightly in his hand, he wandered his office, loathing Saturday nights. They were busy enough with two active homicide investigations, without having to deal with all the criminals who came out of the woodworks on weekends. Making a couple of calls, he managed to deal the lighter cases off to swing and days, leaving his team with a homicide and a B&E. He walked back to reception, dropping off the cases he'd dealt and made his way into the break room. "Alright, busy night in Vegas, but I managed to hand some of the less pressing cases off. We'll handle the remainder."

"I hate working weekends. We're already up to our ears in active investigations. Can't the criminals take a break and let us close up our other cases?"

"If only it worked that way, Greg."

"You know swing and days are going to drop us with something during one of their shifts, don't you?"

Grissom turned to Nick. "I realize that possibility, but with Sara out for a few days and with active investigations, I didn't have much choice."

"When's Sara getting back?"

"Tuesday night." The answer came out a little too quickly and a little too automatically, causing Catherine to raise her eyebrows at him. He ignored it and moved on. "Nick, you and Greg can take the homicide. Man shot dead in his home in Henderson. Vartann will meet you there." He handed off the slip. "Catherine," he held up another slip. "B&E in Summerlin. A couple went out for the night, came home and discovered their house was broken into. When you're done, you can get back to your case." Catherine grabbed the slip from his hands and left the room. It was just he and Warrick.

"Where do you need me?"

"I handed off the rest of the cases. You can keep working on your case."

Warrick nodded, mouthing a silent thank you. He nodded and turned, leaving the room and heading straight for his office.

Grissom sat down on the chair he'd fallen asleep on seven hours earlier. The sleep had left his back extremely sore and convinced him of the need to go home. Reluctantly, he'd gone home and gotten little rest, but, as he sat down in his office and he stared down at the photos he'd left out, he realized that the rest had helped. He could focus on the pictures again. He picked up one picture and studied it, closely. The motel room was so clean, too clean to be something orchestrated by a pimp exacting revenge. Mitch Munz had nothing to do with the death of Wanda Collins. If he was teaching his prostitute a lesson, there was no way he would be concerned with creating and presenting a sterile scene. It was someone else, someone methodic and obsessive and someone who paid great attention to details. Grissom's stomach turned. They were looking for a man who would be very hard to find.

_8:08 PM_

Nick let his camera fall to his chest as he looked up and watched the truck cut across the desert sand and pulls up next to his. Catherine stepped out, her hair up in a pony tail, her bangs blowing across her face in the wind. She was wearing jeans and a long sleeve tee, and Nick watched as she pulled on her LVPD forensics jacket and made her way towards him and Vega. She approached and smiled at him. "Aren't you working on your own homicide?"

"Open and shut. Wife killed her philandering husband. She confessed and all the evidence backed it up. What about your B&E?"

"Matches a string of other B&Es that have hit Summerlin lately. Still no closer to finding the perp."

"And yours and Warrick's homicide?"

"It's cold. Grissom left it with Warrick. He called me up, figured you might need a hand."

"I told Grissom that Swing was going to get us back for dumping our cases on them. "

"What have we got?"

"A couple of hikers found two burnt bodies, one partially on top of the other. David's examining them."

"Body dump?"

"Must be, although I'm not sure why the killer would burn the bodies after dumping them in the desert."

"Burnt, how?"

"Someone lit them on fire."

"In the desert? You're sure they were burnt here and not somewhere else before being dumped here?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. I think they used this location because it's wild fire season. Maybe they didn't want to risk burning them in the forested areas. It's a weird one, Cath. Wait until you see it."

He led Catherine over to where David was examining the bodies and watched as Catherine bent down next to David. "Hi, David. Uh, what a terrible smell."

"Smells like burnt pork, right? Confirms the bodies were lit up here."

"Nick, the bodies are still in relatively decent shape. I expected something closer to bone and ash."

"I did too when I first heard about it. There was still a little smoke when I got here, but it couldn't have been a very big fire."

"Big enough to burn the skin down to the nerves but not big enough to cremate the bodies. There's burnt wood all around the bodies, square shaped pattern."

"I know. The killer must have brought in the wood. What can you tell us, Super Dave?"

"No id on the victims. Sand imbedded into the charred skin. The body on top was a woman, as you can tell. We'll have to move the woman to see what's underneath. Do you need more photos?"

"No, you can move her away."

Nick helped Dave carefully lift the first victim into a body bag and watched as David examined the second. "Well, your other victim was male."

After carefully placing the man into a body bag, Nick turned to Catherine. "Do you want to stay with the scene or head back to the lab with the body?"

"You're the primary. You can take the body. Besides, I didn't come here just to turn right back around."

He grinned at her. "Alright. See you back at the lab." Catherine pulled out her camera and began taking photos. He gave her one last wave before getting into his truck and following the coroner's van back into the city.

_8:23 PM_

Catherine bent over the area, fingering the burnt wood with her latex gloves, finding it still hot to the touch. Her eyes wandered over the area, noticing that the bodies were placed on what looked to be a platform of wood. Her eyes followed the square pattern of wood around the area the bodies were found. Snapping more pictures, she moved along the outer edge until something caught her attention. She took another photo then picked the warm item up. "Vega, come take a look at this."

When Vega was beside her, she held the item up with her gloved hand. He bent forward to look at it. "Looks like a piece of rope."

"Yeah. The killer must have had the victims tied up at one point, or used the rope to tie together the wood. When you and Nick arrived, did you see any tracks around here?"

"There were some impressions in the sand, but we couldn't make them out. The wind blew the sand around and made it impossible to get foot or tire impressions. Stokes got a rough estimate of the size of the tire and he measured the distance between tracks. His estimate was that it was a truck or SUV, but that's all he could get."

"Wonderful. Did the hikers who found the body have anything to say?"

"They were out hiking for the day, passed this area around six-thirty, quarter to seven, saw smoke, decided to check it out and found the bodies, smoke and flames rising off of them. They said they could smell flesh burning underneath and could make out a face. They called 911 immediately and emptied the remainder of their water bottles on the fire. When the flames were still coming off, they doused the fire with sand and managed to put it out. "

"Explains the sand imbedded in the bodies. They didn't see a vehicle or anything?"

"No, just a heap of burning corpses."

"Alright." She stood up and began photographing again. "There's lots of collection here to do and lots more photos to take. I'll need to bag up all this wood and get it to trace, and I'll have to wait for it to cool a bit more before I can bag it. No use you waiting here for me to finish. You can head back if you want, maybe see if Nick can get you an id."

Vega nodded. "I'll leave you an officer. Have fun."

She scoffed. "Thanks. See you later." Vega left and she kneeled down on the desert sand, taking more pictures as she waited for the evidence to cool.

_9:12 PM_

Nick followed as Dave Phillips wheeled the first victim into the morgue. Doc Robbins entered shortly after and glanced down at the body, then back up at Nick. "Lot's of tissue damage, but if we peel that away, you should be able to get DNA from the body."

He nodded. "I was hoping you'd say that. There was no id on either of the bodies and since we can't get prints, I was hoping we'd come up with something from DNA."

Nick washed down the body for Doc Robbins, allowing Doc Robbins time to prepare. When David entered with the second body, Nick moved onto it. Beside him, Doc Robbins began peeling away at the skin and placing each tag into a tray. Layer by layer, burnt skin was removed until Doc Robbins was nearly at the bone. Nick stood beside the Medical Examiner, entranced by the sight, as Doc Robbins exposed the layers with deft precision. Finally, the doctor came across usable tissue. Nick pulled out an envelope and opened it, allowing Doc Robbins to drop the fleshy material inside. He sealed the envelope and labeled it, waiting for Doc Robbins to repeat the process on the second victim. It didn't take as long to reach usable tissue on the female victim.

Nick labeled the second envelope and held both up, staring at them. "Thanks, Doc. I'll get these to Wendy and have her run DNA through CODIS and Missing Persons. Can you get to work on COD? Cath and I think the bodies were dumped and lit up. It would help if we knew how they died."

"I'll make it my priority."

"Right on, thanks a lot." He took one last glance at the two victims, shook his head and then turned sharply, leaving David and Doc Robbins behind in the morgue.

_Monday, September 4__th__, 2006  
__12:17 AM_

Catherine made her way through the halls of the lab, carrying boxes of evidence. Hot and tired, she stopped to page Nick and soon he was helping her log the evidence in. They carried box after box, logging each piece of evidence in separately. Once the last item from the last box was logged in, she stopped and wiped her brow. "I picked up every piece of wood and rope I could find. The bodies were burnt on some sort of home made, layered platform. I figured the layers gave way with the burning, but once the bodies were removed, I could see evidence of locking wood. I want to get a sample to trace right away and see if Hodges can get us the type of wood or find any accelerant that might be used. What did you get from Doc Robbins?"

"He was able to pull DNA off both victims. I sent it off to Wendy. She's running the samples now. Doc Robbins is still in autopsy."

"You didn't want to watch?"

"Doc Robbins will tell us all we need to know." Nick ran a hand through his hair. Catherine nodded in understanding.

"Well," she stated, pulling two bags out of evidence, one containing wood, the other containing rope, "let's get this wood and rope to trace." She handed Nick the bags and grabbed a few of her own.

It was impossible to drop something off and trace and make a clean break out of the room when David Hodges was working. Catherine and Nick tried, but like nearly every other time she tried, Catherine found herself and Nick caught, having to listen to Hodges make his usual pompous remarks. Luckily they were spared when Nick's pager went off. Catherine breathed a huge sigh of relief and flashed Hodges a smile. "Get us those results as soon as possible."

Once they were in the hall she turned to Nick. "The morgue?"

"Yeah, Doc Robbins finished the autopsies."

_1:09 AM_

Doc Robbins was leaning over the male victim when Nick reentered the morgue with Catherine right next to him. Doc Robbins looked up at him and moved over to the female victim. "Nick, Catherine," Doc Robbins gave them a nod in greeting, both victims had some bone fractures and bone chipping common when exposed to the heat from fire."

"COD?"

"You're fortunate the bodies were still in decent shape. I have COD for your female victim. Respiratory arrest, she burnt to death."

"She was killed in the fire?"

"Yes."

"What about the male?"

"I wasn't able to determine Cause of Death."

"He didn't burn to death too?"

"Well," Doc Robbins used his cane to beckon them over. Nick found himself looking down at the female victim's open chest cavity. "Do you see all the soot lining the lungs? She had to be alive to have inhaled it. I also found Carboxyhemoglobin in your Jane Doe's blood. Your John Doe's lungs weren't present for soot, nor was his blood present for Carboxyhemoglobin. Your Jane Doe definitely died in the fire, but I imagine your John Doe died elsewhere and was burnt later."

By the time Doc Robbins was finished, Nick's mouth was hanging open. His eyes shot to Catherine. She looked as disgusted and disturbed as he felt. The woman was burnt alive with a dead corpse. He turned back to Doc Robbins. "And you can't confirm COD?"

"No. The most I can determine is that his heart stopped. What caused it to stop is undetermined. As I said earlier, you're fortunate the bodies were in decent shape and I was able to determine what I have."

Nick shook his head and turned back to Catherine, meeting her eyes and holding them. "What the hell?"


	6. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

_Monday, September 4__th__, 2006  
__3:45 AM_

He passed Greg in the hall. Haunted look met haunted look. Nick didn't know the details of the homicide that had Greg and Grissom spinning for the past couple of days, but Greg had told him that the images weren't leaving his head. Nick could relate. For the past several hours, different images had been running through his head. Purplish blackish skin being slowly removed by a pair of tweezers. Other patches of dead grayish skin littered across the two bodies. Dermal tissue left raw and exposed. Nerve cells painfully visible. The woman had been burned alive…on top of a corpse. God it was sickening.

Few things could make him cringe. Growing up near large Texas ranches had exposed him to all sorts of sights, sights he liked to participate in as a young man. He'd helped slaughter neighbors cattle as a young boy. He'd butchered his own wild game after successful hunting excursions as a young man. He'd never been squeamish. And, living in Vegas he'd seen a lot. He'd sat through many autopsies. He'd seen burnt corpses before. Yet, the images of the past few hours were living in his mind, as though he was watching some avant-garde Italian film, tweezers going down, peeling away the dead skin, lifting and placing the tags in a tray, then starting over again, tag by tag; discolored skin by discolored skin, over and over and over. Their victim had been lit up, alive and burning on top of a corpse. Burning a lady alive was one thing, entirely horrifying in itself, but to burn a living, breathing lady with a corpse was sick. It was something his southern, gentlemanly upbringing couldn't handle.

Catherine was in the garage when he reached it. He walked in, standing next to her as she fingered each piece of wood she'd collected, her latex gloves blackened by all of the contact. He watched with interest as she moved the wood around. "What are you doing?"

"I'm trying to map out how the wood must have looked before it was lit up. It's hard when so much of the wood was reduced to almost nothing." He nodded, seeing her pattern and picked up a piece of wood, placing it on the mounting pile accumulating inside Catherine's roped off area. She handed him another piece of wood to place on top, directing him to where she thought it should be placed. "Did you check with DNA?"

"Wendy is still running the samples. Missing persons came up empty. She's trying CODIS now." He looked back down at the wood and back to Catherine. She was studying the pile. "What are you thinking?"

"We know that the killer built some sort of structure. I think he made it using lengths of small, round wood. I measured the outer rim of the wood at the crime scene. It was seven feet by four feet."

"So it would have fit into a pickup truck box if the truck was a long box?"

"Yes, but it would have been hard to handle for one person."

His eyes narrowed and he looked at her quizzically. "You're thinking it may have been more than one person?"

"It's possible."

Nick frowned. Somehow the thought of more than one person being involved in such a heinous crime made it all the more sickening. He didn't have long to dwell on the thought. His beeper went off and he picked it up. "Hodges has some results for us in trace." He pulled out his phone and sent off a message, instructing Hodges to bring the results too them. A few seconds later his phone beeped. He opened it and glanced at the message. "He'll be here in a few minutes with the results."

_3:57 AM_

To say that she was surprised that Nick had so easily gotten Hodges to leave his lab to bring the results to them would have been a massive understatement. When Hodges showed up with a file in his hand, she thought she'd keel over from the shock. Then, Hodges eyes darted around and a frown sprung to his face. "Where's Grissom?"

Her eyebrows raised on their own. She looked over to Nick. He merely glanced at Hodges before turning back to the pile of wood. "Not here anymore, but since you are, would you mind giving us the results?"

That sneaky buggar. Now she knew how he got Hodges to come to them. She stifled her chuckle and watched as Hodges glanced around again. "I should give them to Grissom."

"Look Hodges, I'm the lead on this. Grissom isn't even on this case. You can give the results to us."

"Why did you write that he wanted me to bring the results down then?"

"Hodges, I merely wrote that I thought Grissom wanted you to bring the results to us. And that's exactly what he would have wanted. He wouldn't want us leaving the evidence out to get them, and we both want to hear them, so give them up. What have you got?"

"You manipulated me."

"That's right and it worked. Get over it. Now, come on."

Hodges glanced at her with accusing eyes. She merely shrugged, suppressing her laughter and shaking her head. "Hey, don't blame me, but since you're here…"

"Grissom won't like hearing that you used his name to manipulate me."

"What are you going to tell him? That you wouldn't come unless it was he who beckoned? That won't fly with him, so go ahead, Hodges, tell him. He'll give it to you good."

"I won't fall for that again."

That time, she did laugh. Hodges looked back at her and she shook her head again. "Sorry." She waved her hand at him. "Results?"

Hodges's long sigh was enough to cause her to stifle another chuckle. He opened the file, gaining her full attention. "The wood you collected was larch, not native to Nevada but rather to the Northwest and to mountainous areas where the weather is cooler. Larch is known for its tough, waterproof qualities."

"Larch?"

Hodges rolled his eyes. "Yes, larch."

"Any accelerants?"

"There wasn't any trace on any of the samples you gave me."

"No accelerants at all?"

"No."

"Well, when you run all of these other samples, maybe you'll find one."

Catherine watched as Hodges eyed the piles of wood. "That's why you brought me down, so I could transport all of your evidence for you?"

"No, we're not done with it yet. Just letting you know what's in store for you."

"Great."

"Anything else for us?"

"Yeah, being the maestro that I am, I discovered the material used in the rope. It's jute."

"Jute? I never heard of it."

"Well, you've heard of burlap?"

"Of course."

"Burlap material comes from Jute. It's a natural fiber, one of the strongest natural fibers in existence, comes from the skins of the jute plant. It is cultivated mostly in India and Bangladesh. It has a high tensile strength and low extensibility, and it has some heat and fire resistance to it."

Catherine took the file from Hodges's hands. "Thank you, maestro." Hodges eyed her, then eyed the pile and turned, smirking as he left. Catherine eyed Nick as Hodges left. Nick shook his head. "He's lucky he's so good at his job."

"He's great at it." She paused and looked over the results from the file in her hands. "A strong natural fiber that can accommodate a great deal of tension without stretching out of shape, with some resistance to heat and fire?"

"Perfect for what we've just seen it used for."

She nodded. "I think the killer must have used it to tie the lengths of wood together and probably to tie our Jane Doe down to the fire as well."

"The fiber has some heat and fire resistance, probably enough to hold strong until our Jane Doe passed out from smoke inhalation."

"Right, so now, we look for places that would sell jute rope and hope the list isn't too long."

"I'll start an online search. We can check the locations tomorrow."

"I'll keep working on this pile and see if I can come up with anything."

Nick laughed at her. "Staring at a pile of wood, hoping it speaks to you, is so…Grissom."

"Or so Sara, but what can I say? You don't work with a man as long as I've worked with Grissom without something rubbing off on you." She paused and thought back to Hodges's face when he discovered Nick had tricked him. "Incidentally, I think I might use your little trick at manipulating Hodges."

Nick laughed. "You liked that?"

"Brilliant. The look on his face brightened up my morning."

"Mine too."

"Thanks Nicky."

"Any time. Now have fun with your pile of wood." Nick grinned and left. She turned back to the pile and let out a loud, long, large groan.

_5:05 AM_

Nick was on his way back to the garage when Wendy caught him in the hall. He stopped and turned to her, receiving news that wasn't unexpected, but also wasn't good. The search through CODIS came up empty. They'd have to find another way to id the bodies, and next on the list of ways to id two bodies burned beyond recognition was through the teeth. He did not look forward to going back to the morgue to get the X-rays and dental impressions that were required. Never-the-less, after letting out an awkward sound that could be described as something between a sigh and a groan, he thanked Wendy and changed his course to head to the morgue.

Doc Robbins opened the drawers and pulled out the bodies for him. Facial X-rays had already been taken, so all that was left was the dental impressions and an overall sketch of the teeth. Nick looked down at the bodies, not savoring the thought of having to manipulate the mouths. He pulled on his latex gloves and fixed one hand firmly to his John Doe's jaw. Opening the mouth, he created just enough space for Doc Robbins to get a mold inside. Forcing the jaw shut again, Nick created the impression, reopened the jaw and removed the mold. While Doc Robbins looked over the teeth, he labeled the mold, finding the need to remove his gloves and don a new pair after seeing that they were covered in a sticky, fluid matter.

The process was repeated on the Jane Doe. As soon as it was finished, Nick removed his gloves and sealed them in an evidence bag. He left the morgue with a quick thank you and headed to his office to plug in the particulars into the Dental Society Database.

Catherine was still working on her pile when he finally made it back into the garage. "CODIS didn't kick out any names."

"Still no id on our two victims?"

"No, but I went back to the morgue and took dental impressions. I posted the dental work on the Dental Society Database. Hopefully someone will respond and we'll figure out who our John Doe and Jane Doe are."

Catherine sighed. "So, more waiting."

"Yeah. I doubt anyone will respond tonight, so we'll have to check it tomorrow."

He watches as Catherine looked up from her work and wiped her brow. "Did you find any retailers for jute rope in the area?"

"Well, you can get it at a lot of boating supply stores, but I think the first place to check would be Crafta. It's on Nellis Blvd. They sell jute rope in large quantities. We'll have to check there tomorrow as well."

"So for now, we're at a standstill."

He nodded. "Nothing else we can do tonight."

"Well, I guess we head to our respective houses and get some rest. I'll let Grissom know that I'm leaving this," she indicated the piles of wood," out. I'll lock it up. Go home."

He sighed. "Yeah, okay. When do you want to meet tomorrow to head up our searches?"

"Noon? It'll give us a few hours of rest. I'll call Vega and let him know."

"Alright. I guess I'll see you around noon."

"Sweet dreams, Nicky."

Yeah right. He wasn't sure how much sleep he'd actually get with the avant-garde film still playing through his head. But, he would need the rest, so he might as well try. He sent Catherine a small smile and headed out of the garage.


	7. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

_Monday, September 4__th__, 2006  
__11:52 AM_

They were meeting by the front entrance in only a few minutes, but Nick wanted to make a quick search of the Dental Society Database before leaving. He opened the page on his computer and did a speedy check. No responses were yet posted. He sighed and headed to the entrance where Catherine and Vega were both waiting.

Crafta was a large craft supply store, based out of California, but with a remote location in Vegas. It reminded Nick of some of the stores his sisters would drag him to growing up. From floral supplies to ribbons and bows to woven baskets to dolls to paper to candles, the store had it all. It also had a large variety of ropes and cords, including jute rope. Unfortunately, it didn't have a large customer database.

When they arrived, Vega immediately asked the store manager to search through his inventory and check on any purchases of jute rope over the few months. The manager, a lady in her mid fifties, willingly obliged, finding only a few sales over the period in question. The manager handed over a printout of the activity to him.

"Do you have names to go with the purchases?"

The lady shook her head. "No, unfortunately we don't ask our customers to put their names into our database unless they are ordering any items we don't have in stock." After a few clicks on the keyboard of her computer, the store manager looked back up to Nick. "We haven't had to make any orders on jute rope either. I'm terribly sorry."

"That's alright, m'am, thanks for your help. If you have any more purchases, let us know."

"I will be sure to do that."

Once the trio exited the store, Catherine turned and stopped in front of them. "Well, that was a bust."

"Yeah. Vega, can you drop us at the lab, and then check with all the local boating supply stores in the area. I'll do an online search and see if I can come up with anything. I sure would like to come up with a few suspects, or at least something to go on."

"No problem."

_4:17 PM_

His eyes were starting to blur after spending three hours focusing on the computer screen without a break. So far, his search was proving impossible. Anyone could have ordered the rope from a number of companies. Realizing he was beating a dead horse, he sighed and closed off the screen. One last check of the Dental Society Database, and he'd close off his computer.

He'd checked the database before starting the search, and once more about an hour after that. He hadn't been given a response either of those times. He opened the database, nearly convinced that he would again be disappointed, when he was pleasantly surprised. Both sets of teeth were identified…by the same dentist. He checked the dentist's notes against his own and sighed with relief when they matched to a tee. He had ids. Doris and Lester Fletcher. He did a quick DMV search of their names and was surprised to find something else pop up. He quickly hit the print button, retrieved the paper, and practically sprinted to the garage.

_4:26 PM_

She looked between the pictures and the structure she'd finally finished, relieved to see that she'd been able to replicate it to what she'd found at the crime scene as closely as possible. Catherine turned to Grissom, who was also studying the photos. He nodded.

"The bodies were found in the center. Both were on their backs, the male beneath the female."

Grissom nodded, studying the structure. "So, your killer built a funeral pyre."

"What?"

"This looks like a simple form of a funeral pyre. They're designed to reduce a corpse to ashes."

"The bodies were burnt but still in fairly decent shape when they were found. They certainly weren't ashes." Catherine paused and studied the wood structure. She fingered a piece of burnt wood, sliding her index finger along the surface. She lifted her finger and studied the sand and soot on it. "A couple of hikers found the fire. They threw sand on it to put it out. It's probably what saved the bodies."

"Likely."

Just then, Nick came bounding in, breathless. They both turned to him. Catherine watched as Nick bent forward, regaining his breath. "Our John and Jane Doe are John and Jane Doe no longer. They are now Lester and Doris Fletcher. Someone responded to the post on the Dental Society Database."

"Lester and Doris Fletcher? Related, how?"

"Married."

Catherine watched as Grissom raised his eyebrows and studied the funeral pyre. She turned back to Nick when he spoke again. "That's not all. I did a DMV search and guess what I found."

"What?"

"Lester Fletcher is dead."

"We know that, Nick."

"Yeah, but I can tell you how long he's been dead. Six days, died of a heart attack at 64. It's all listed in his death certificate."

"Wait, he has a death certificate?"

"Yes he does."

"So someone decided to steal a corpse, kidnap the widow and light her up on top of it?"

"You're female victim was burnt alive?"

Catherine nodded.

"Sati." Catherine and Nick both turned to Grissom, eyebrows raised to their hairlines. Grissom continued. "Sati. It was practiced in India for centuries. Part of historic Indian culture, was the belief that a wife was an extension of the husband. When a man died, it was thought that the wife died with him. After all, she was a part of him. So, when they cremated the corpse, they cremated the widow with her husband. More often than not, it was not voluntary. The widow would be tied down and burnt alive over her husband's corpse. That," Grissom pointed at the burnt structure Catherine had put together, "would be your victims' funeral pyre."

"That's sick."

Catherine nodded her head in agreement. The thought of woman being physically restrained and burnt alive because she lost her husband was so barbaric. She shook her head, noticing Nick doing the same. Grissom gave them both a soft smile. "I'll leave you to it. If you need me, I'll be around. Finish up what you can tonight, and then go home. I'll place you on call and call only if I really need you."

"Yeah. Thanks Grissom." Grissom nodded. She watched him leave. Once he was out of sight, she turned to Nick. "Well, I guess we can clean this up, get more samples off to trace and then go check out our victims' home."

_7:44 PM_

It was a typical cozy two bedroom house. There were rows of flowers along the front, wilting in the sunlight from not being watered over the past day, though a watering can sat, turned on its side, just in front of the bed. It didn't take long for plants to die in this heat, Nick mused. There was a stone walkway leading up to the front entrance, though it was more likely the victims' used the side entrance, accessed by the driveway. Nodding at Catherine and Vega, Nick walked up the driveway and stopped before the door, searching for signs of forced entry. When none were apparent, he slowly opened the door, surprised to find it wasn't locked.

Stepping aside to let Catherine pass in front of him, he followed her into the house. They came to the kitchen first, spotlessly clean. A stack of dry dishes on a towel next to the sink was the only sign that the kitchen was lived in. Nick's eyes wandered about, taking in the framed photographs of children and grandchildren resting on the china cabinet and he wondered how Doris Fletcher hadn't been reported missing yet. He turned in his spot, watching as Catherine opened the fridge. It was stocked full of deli plates and fruit plates, cut vegetables, buns, cheese and other ready-to-eat foods, typical of a house in mourning.

From the kitchen, he and Catherine moved to the dining room. It was definitely lived in. Papers were strewn about, funeral notices for Lester Fletcher, funeral programs, old, worn photographs of a young man and woman, a young family, an old wedding photograph of a soldier and his bride. Nick fingered each item as Catherine stood beside him snapping photographs. Nick picked up the funeral notice. "The funeral home they were using was Blackley's Mortuary. That must be where the body was taken from."

"It won't be open tonight. We'll have to wait for the morning to get answers from them."

Nick nodded, leaving Catherine to taking pictures. As he wandered into the living room, he heard Vega enter the kitchen, speaking softly with Catherine. Nick stopped in the archway leading to the living room. Again the room was spotlessly clean. He lifted his camera, taking more pictures as his eyes wandered about the room. It was a cozy room, one sofa, an Afghan quilt folded and resting along the two, two chairs, both with ottomans, two little side tables, each resting between a chair and the sofa, a small piano in the corner, a TV with a VCR, but no DVD player, a bookshelf full of Mark Twain and Jack London and other classic adventure authors, and on top of the bookshelf, more photographs, of brothers and sisters, children and grandchildren, family gatherings and of the couple throughout various stages of their life together. They looked like such a happy family, causing Nick to again wonder where that family was during all of this.

His question was answered moments later when he heard the door open and a soft voice calling, "Mom?" He went on alert, hearing Vega's heavy steps shuffle toward the door. The voice continued, "Mom, where are you? I know you wanted to be left alone, but the funeral is tomorrow and we're worried about you." The words were followed by a slight shriek and Nick new that Vega had made it to the door, Catherine probably right behind him. Not wanting to miss out on the action, and feeling the need to offer as much reassurance to the young lady as was possible, he strode to the side door and helped Vega escort the woman to the living room. The young woman, feminine and beautiful, who's age Nick deemed to be twenty-five at the most, was pale. Her eyes were blank and full of disbelief. Nick helped her to the sofa, sitting down on an Ottoman so that he could face her. "Miss Fletcher?"

The woman shook her head, tears beginning to collect in her eyes. Her voice was catching as she stumbled with her words. "No, Mrs. Donaldson, Ashley Donaldson, I just got married last year."

"Okay, Mrs. Donaldson, when was the last time you saw your mother?"

"Saturday."

"You're father just passed and you haven't seen your mother since Saturday?" He tried not to sound disbelieving as he struggled to make sense of the daughter's actions. The daughter merely shook her head softly.

"She was tired of all the attention and wanted to be left alone until the funeral. We tried to talk her out of it, but…" The young lady choked on her words again, and Nick watched her hands as they rested on her stomach. The movement drew his attention to her stomach and he noticed she was sporting a very small bump.

"Your mother must have loved your father very much."

"She did." There were more sniffles, then a shine in the young lady's eyes. "God they were great together."

"Where is the rest of your family?" Catherine's voice cut in, her tone soft and sympathetic.

The response was quick, as though Ashley Donaldson spit them out in an effort to audible her response without choking up. "At their own homes or with us. Kevin and I have a few relatives staying with us. Jay, that's my oldest brother, he and his family have a few more. Darcy and his family have some cousins and their children staying with them. Sean and Taylor have an aunt and uncle with them and I think the rest of the extended family is either at their own homes, friends and family, or staying in a hotel."

"Okay, and you say that you saw her last on Saturday? Anyone else see her since then?"

"No. She didn't want anyone around. We've been gathering at Jay's place. We called her Sunday morning to see if she was alright. She hung up on us, wanting to be left alone. We called again this morning, and when nobody answered, we figured she just wasn't taking any calls. We decided to leave her alone, but when we called again around dinner, hoping to coerce her in either us going there to eat or she going to Jay's, she didn't answer and we discussed it, deciding she needed to get out. The boys asked me to get her, thinking she'd listen to me since…since…well since, I'm her baby…"

The woman broke out sobbing, clutching the bump on her stomach. Nick leaned forward, offering the woman a tissue. News of her other parent's death was heartbreaking enough and he knew it would only be worse once this woman found out the details. He nodded to Catherine, indicating that she should be the one to go over the details. Catherine nodded in return.

Nick stood up and moved to Vega. Whispering in Vega's ear, he let Vega know that he was going to check the phone for messages. Vega nodded and Nick left him and Catherine with the weeping woman.

_8:51 PM_

Catherine escorted the sobbing lady to her car before getting into Vega's car with him. She and Vega had decided to follow Ashley Donaldson to her brother's place, leaving Nick to finish processing the Fletcher house. Once they arrived at the house, they were faced with telling a large family, mourning the loss of a father, that they'd lost their mother as well.

Looks of horror and anguish met with Catherine as she broke the news. The men sat with near stoic faces, with their eyes occasionally betraying their shock, and giving Catherine slight glimpses at their anger. The wives faces were impassive for mere seconds before the shock of the news wore off and they were hit with the reality of the situation, sobbing uncontrollably as that reality hit. Small children, toddlers, infants, looked up at their parents in wonder, tugging at pant legs as they tried to comprehend what was going on. Eventually the silence of their fathers and the weeping of their mothers became to overwhelming and the children joined in the crying, frightened and not understanding the goings-on around them. It was a devastating scene.

Each face told a different story. Each pained expression displayed the horror each family member felt. Catherine watched helplessly as each family member tried to come to grips with the news. Their mother had burned to death, a top their father's burning corpse. She'd died a painful, horrendous, ghastly death. Her skin had been seared off her body while she choked on soot, carbon monoxide, and the stench of her husband's and her own burning flesh. Some of the faces before Catherine looked nauseated, some in utter disbelief. All of the faces bore the signs of consuming sorrow.

Ever so delicately, Catherine began to question the female family members, one by one, while Vega, not far from her, worked on questioning the males. None of the family members could give her anything. They'd decided as a group, to give their mother the space she needed, and had also decided as a group to try to get her out of the house that evening. They'd all seen her last in the very house Catherine was standing in, fighting to keep herself together, before rushing off to home to be alone in her grief.

After gathering as much information as they could and confirming each story, as well as other pieces of information important to the case, Catherine and Vega offered their condolences and exited the house. The sounds of a grieving family echoed behind them.


	8. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

_Tuesday, September 5__th__, 2006  
__8:49 AM_

"A man dies of natural causes. Someone steals his corpse, kidnaps his widow and lights their bodies up over a funeral pyre. The family doesn't notice their mother is missing. The funeral home doesn't report a missing corpse. The victims' neighbors haven't seen anything suspicious. How does that happen?"

"Well, Vega said he was only able to talk to a couple of the neighbors, and the ones he spoke to lived a few houses down. It seems a lot of people were away for the weekend."

Nick tapped on the steering wheel as he drove, bits of information running through his head. He spent long hours the night before, thinking about the case, and the more he thought about it, the more things didn't make any sense. Who burns a widow on her husband's corpse? It may be an old Indian custom, but it was inhumane. He wondered what kind of Karma would befall a person who'd commit such an act. He sighed, just wishing he knew something. He glanced over at Catherine. Her elbow was resting on the door, and her head was resting on her open palm as she sat, looking at him. He shook his head, demanding his thoughts to return to their conversation. "It is a long weekend. Still, it had to have happened during the day. I arrived at the crime scene just before eight on Sunday and the fire hadn't been out for long. Ashley Donaldson said they spoke to their mother Sunday morning when she hung up on them."

"Maybe she wasn't taken from her home. I didn't see any signs of struggle at her home. You finished processing that house last night. Did you find anything?"

"No. Apart from the watering can laying on its side and some dirt scattered about in front of the flower bed, I didn't see anything else." It bothered him that he hadn't found anything out of place in the house. It bothered him that the only thing out of place had been a watering plant. It bothered him that Doris Fletcher may have possibly been taken from the front of the house, on a Sunday afternoon, from a quiet suburb, and no one, not even the neighbors a few doors down, had seen anything. It bothered him that Doris Fletcher had simply disappeared without anyone noticing.

"Well the dirt could have been from watering the plants."

He glanced over at Catherine before facing forward again to watch the road. He shrugged, not convinced of Catherine's line of thought. "She was a tidy person. I doubt she'd leave the watering can out."

"She was grieving, Nick. Sometimes people who grieve do some things obsessively, and other times, that same person might forget what she's doing altogether or lose interest in it and just walk away."

Nick looked at her, his expression moving from curiosity to sympathy. Catherine would know what it meant to grieve, in a way he couldn't yet understand and hoped he'd never have to. He sighed. "You're right. She might have stopped caring what she was doing and left it out. So, if she wasn't taken from her home, where does that leave us?"

"The funeral home?" Catherine's head came off her hand. She sat up, facing him. "They didn't report a missing corpse. Maybe she went to see her dead husband and something happened that resulted in her death."

"That resulted in burning her alive over her husband's corpse?" He glanced over at her, incredulously.

"You don't think morticians are capable of something so morbid?"

Another sigh escaped his mouth as he thought back to other morticians, falsifying death certificates and selling diseased organs for transplant. "Well, our past experiences with people in that profession haven't been so great. I guess it's a good thing we're on our way to the funeral home then."

They pulled up in front of the building. A short man showing the beginning signs of balding, somewhere in his mid 40's, was pacing about on the lawn in front of the building. Nick stepped out of the truck and strolled over towards the man. "I'm Nick Stokes, this is Catherine Willows," he held out is arm to indicate Catherine. "We're with the Crime Lab."

The man momentarily stopped his pacing and began fidgeting on the spot. "Oh, I just called the police. I didn't expect you to arrive so quickly."

"Excuse me?"

"I've been broken into."

Nick turned to Catherine and shot her a puzzled look. He turned back to the still frantically pacing man. "Can you tell us when this happened, Mr.?"

"Blackley. Jacob Blackley. I own this place. It must have happened sometime over the weekend. I don't know. My family and I went away for the long weekend. I came in this morning and the door was partially open. The doorknob is broken; so is the lock."

"You say you were away all weekend?"

"Yes. We were in Yosemite. One last camping trip before the kids go back to school."

"Do you have any receipts to verify this?"

The man looked at him, forehead scrunched and confusion crossing his features. "Sure. I think I have some in my car. Can you excuse me for a moment?"

"Yes, Sir." Nick watched the man leave before turning to Catherine. "The mortuary was broken into?"

"Explains why they didn't report a missing corpse." Catherine pulled out her phone. "He said he just phoned the police. If they called it in, there's probably somebody from days headed out here right now. I'm calling the lab to tell them we think it's related to our case and not to bother sending someone."

"Good idea. You can deal with Ecklie."

Catherine scrunched her face and Nick let out a chuckle. He watched her dial the lab and place the phone next to her ear. Looking towards the street, he watched as Vega pulled up behind their vehicle. He walked towards the detective.

"Hey, I just heard over the radio that the owner reported a break-in here."

"Yeah, we heard. Catherine's calling the lab and letting them know that they don't need to send anybody out."

Vega nodded. "I radioed in and told dispatch that I was here and responding."

Jacob Blackley approached them holding a handful of receipts. He thrust them at Nick. Nick took the pile and watched as the man eyed Vega. "Mr. Blackley, this is Detective Vega. Now, you were in Yosemite over the weekend?"

"Yes. We just got back last night."

"Where did you stay?"

"Yosemite Pines."

"Where is that, exactly?"

"Near the West entrance, by Groveland, Old Hwy 120." Jacob Blackley began to pace again.

"Were you camping with anyone apart from your family?"

"No."

"I'll fax his driver's license photo to Modesto, and see if they can get someone to the resort to confirm." Nick looked over at Vega and nodded.

"What's going on? Why aren't you investigating this break-in?"

He turned back to the nervous little man, still pacing, though his paces were getting shorter and shorter. The man was nearly spinning in circles. Nick watched him, feeling almost dizzy. "We are, Sir. We just need to confirm that you were out of town."

Jacob Blackley stopped and faced him. "Well I was. What's this about?"

Catherine reappeared at that moment. Nick watched as Jacob Blackley's eyes scanned over Catherine as she moved next to him. "Mr. Blackley, have you been inside yet?"

"Yes, I walked through quickly."

"Anything out of place?"

"No, but I want my lock fixed and I want to find out who broke into my funeral home."

"Are you sure that you aren't missing anything?"

"No. I don't understand what's going on. I come back from a camping trip to find my place of business broken into and you aren't investigating. There is a funeral service taking place in the chapel in a couple of hours. I would like some answers."

"Do you often close your funeral home when you're planning a funeral service?"

"The funeral is already set and ready to go. There are only a few things I need to do this morning. We were going to have it last Thursday, but the Widow Fletcher wanted to wait until this week. Her youngest son and daughter-in-law were in South America and she didn't think they'd make it back in time for a Thursday funeral, so she made it for today. She was fine with the mortuary being closed. My family had our Yosemite reservations for a year now. We always close on the long weekend. I left keys with my brother in case any of the Fletcher family wanted or needed to get in. Speaking of which, the family should be arriving soon. What am I going to tell them?"

"They won't be coming in."

"Lester and Doris Fletcher's bodies were found in the desert Sunday evening."

"What?"

"When you walked through the funeral home, you didn't notice a body was missing?"

"I walked through quickly. Mr. Fletcher's casket was where it was supposed to be. I didn't think to look inside. Who would steal a dead body?"

The man looked incredulous and all Nick could think was who indeed. Their case was becoming more warped by the minute. Whoever was responsible, and he wasn't ruling Jacob Blackley out just yet, was either psychic, extremely well prepared, or had an incredible sense of timing. He shook his head. Catherine stood beside him, shaking hers. "Mr. Blackley, Detective Vega is going to ask you a few more questions. We're going to go inside and see what we can find."

Vega led Jacob Blackley away. Nick turned to Catherine. "What do you think?"

"I don't know. This is just too messed up. It's too random."

"Well, so far, Blackley's story checks out. He gave me a pile of receipts from his trip. If the door was only open a crack, it could have gone unnoticed all weekend."

"Which could be why nobody else reported the break-in. I'll check the door."

He nodded and let out a long breath. "I guess I'll start dusting."

_1:13 PM_

"Hey Cath?"

She looked up to see Nick standing over her, clutching his kit in his hand. He shifted from foot to foot and she stared at him, waiting for him to speak. Nick kept shifting on his feet, regarding her with a strange expression on his face. She furrowed her brow. "Yes?"

"I was, uh, wondering if you were ready to head back to the lab."

"Are you?"

Nick placed his kit on the floor and bent down next to her. Her puzzled gaze remained on him, wondering why he was crouching down next to her. "Something wrong, Catherine?"

"No, why?"

"You've been sitting here for a half hour, without moving."

She looked down at herself. Nick was right. She was sitting, cross-legged on the floor of the foyer and she wasn't sure how long she'd been there. Her gloved hands held onto the broken brass lock from the door. She hated that she'd been caught looking so vulnerable, when normally she was so composed and normally appearing to be a tower of strength. She tried to assuage Nick of any notions he might have about her state of mind. "I was studying the lock."

"I see."

She'd spoken very confidently, far more confidently than she'd felt, yet Nick wasn't buying it. She should have known he wouldn't. He was a sensitive guy, and very good at reading people's emotions. Suddenly she felt very uncomfortable under Nick's watchful gaze, knowing he hadn't believed her words any more than she did. Truth was, what began as studying the object, had morphed into something else. She'd been under a spell. Her eyes had moved from being fixated on the deadbolt, to being fixated on Lester Fletcher's empty casket. She'd been imagining the pain Doris Fletcher had experienced just prior to dying and feeling sickened by it. She'd seen a lot of disturbing things in her years as a criminalists, but to think that what had occurred in this case was a cultural or religious practice and not seen as deviant in another place, and hopefully, what was another time, both saddened her, and lent her the overwhelming relief that she lived in a society that found these things as horrifying as she did. Even Vegas and its loose ideas of morality couldn't condone the practice, and she thanked God for that.

Staring at the casket, she couldn't help but feel so, so lucky that she'd never had to experience what Doris Fletcher never should have had to experience. She was a woman and as a woman, any practices or any violence women were subjected to because of their sex both disturbed and angered her. What's more, in a way, she was a widow too, though divorced before Eddie had died. While the circumstances behind their break-up and behind Eddie's death were so completely unique to them, Catherine couldn't help but to think of how things would be if that experience had happened within a different society. A society that would burn a widow over her husband's corpse surely wouldn't have allowed for a divorce, and had she been part of that foreign and past society, Eddie's mistakes may very well have led to a similar fate.

"Cath, are you sure you're alright?"

Nick's voice stirred her from her thoughts, yet again. She stood up. "Yeah," and in an attempt to change the direction of the conversation, she continued, "I think the print dust is getting to me. How much powder did you use?"

It was a lame excuse but Nick seemed fine with the change in conversation, no doubt knowing she didn't like to be pressed. She sighed in relief when he began to speak. "Quite a bit. I lifted tons of prints, enough to keep Mandy busy for days. I may have to pick her up some coffee and maybe something to eat, just to get her to run them all. Hodges and Wendy are going to love me too. Between tape lifts and fibers and hair I picked up with my tweezers, they both have lots of work in front of them."

"Good." She nodded and Nick fidgeted.

"So, you ready to go?"

"You go ahead. I'll get Metcalf to take me over to PD. I want to speak with Vega and see if he got anything from the local businesses or from Blackley's brother. Can you take my evidence back for me?"

"Sure thing. Give me a call when you're done at PD?"

She nodded. "I'll let you know what Vega found. Thanks Nicky."

"Anytime."

She gave him a parting smile, turning back to look at the empty casket. The sounds of Nick's footprints faded away and she was left, all alone, within the walls of the funeral home. It was so quiet and eerie. Her body quivered. She took a deep breath, and headed out the door, watching the lab's truck turn the corner of the street.

_3:17 PM_

Catherine pulled out her phone and sighed when her call went to voicemail. "Hey Nick. According to Vega, none of the surrounding businesses noticed any activity around Blackley's Mortuary all weekend. Vega spoke to Blackley's brother, Elijah, and he stated that he hadn't been called to the funeral home for any reason. He didn't check on the place at all while his brother was away. Elijah Blackley did confirm that Jacob Blackley did leave him a key to the place. Break-in must have happened at night. Vega hasn't been able to locate any witnesses. I'm on my way back to the lab now."

She closed the phone and leaved against the hallway walls, closing her eyes. She opened them again and from the corner of her eye, saw a familiar figure duck into an office. That figure was just the distraction she needed and she welcomed the temporary reprieve talking to him would bring. Smiling, she stood up and moved down the hall to the office door. She knocked, but didn't bother to wait for an answer before opening the door. "Jim, what are you doing at work? Couldn't keep away, could you?"

Brass's face lit up. His smile turned to a smirk. "And miss seeing you hanging around here?"

"Shouldn't you be at home, resting?"

"You know me, can't stay away." Brass shrugged. "I've gotten enough rest all summer."

"Which is why you were in the hospital again last week."

"They were just checking up on me."

"Then why did you have to stay over night?"

She was pushing, but she didn't care. Catherine fixed Brass with a stare that warned him that he'd better be straight up with her. Sitting across from him, and leveling him with her best glare, she waited for him to speak. Brass sighed. "Alright, I may have pushed it a little too hard over the summer, but I'm fine now, Catherine."

"Are you? You were shot and you didn't give yourself enough time to recover."

"I'm alright. I'll be pulling desk duty for a couple of weeks here, but I'm okay." She nodded, her face relaxing into a smile.

"Good. That's good."

"Thanks for caring, Catherine."

"I'll always care, Jim."

It was silent for a moment, awkwardly so. Finally Brass spoke. "How are things at work?"

"Rough. Nick and I pulled a really rough case. I have another rough one open with Warrick. He's been working on it and not getting anywhere, and Grissom and Greg…"

"I heard about Grissom's case. Sofia and Grissom have both filled me in on that one."

"Yeah, well, it's been a rough week. Listen, I've got to head back to the lab, try to get Nick to go home and get some rest while we wait for our evidence to be processed, but if there's anything you need…"

"I'll let you, and the ten others who offered, know."

She smiled, letting out a small chuckle. "Yeah, right. Anyways, take it easy." She stood and turned, heading out of the office. Pausing in the doorway, she turned back, giving Brass another smile before leaving. It had felt good talking to him. The five minutes in his office, seeing him back behind his desk, was just what she needed to clear out all the emotions pummeling her consciousness. They'd return soon enough, but for the moment, at least she'd gotten a little peace.


	9. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

_Tuesday, September 5__th__, 2006  
__5:04 PM_

There was a different kind of life to the lab in the late afternoon. Outside the office door, he could hear the shifts changing as Days were rushing each lab to hurry with the results and Swing was checking in on results they'd left the night before. Inside the office, it was quiet, the faint murmur of the activity outside barely noticeable.

He'd come in early to get work done, finding the quiet of the townhouse almost oppressive in a way it had been only one short year ago. It astounded him how much had changed in the past year, and how much more had changed over the summer. His days of staying at the lab or out in the field eighteen hours of the day were over, with the exception of the past few days, where the quiet of the townhouse only reminded him of his old life, the life he hoped he'd never have to return to, and caused him to escape back into the solace of the bustling lab.

The files sat in front of him. They'd been opened and closed dozens of times by that point, but no new ideas had sprung forth. The case was stalled, and the amount of energy being spent on it made him tired beyond reason. He still had other cases to work on, his case from the previous night for instance. Yet, as he sat in the dimly lit office, his mind kept wandering back to the mutilated woman. He needed to find answers. He needed a break. He needed a cup of coffee.

Warrick was the only person in the break room when he arrived. Most of Days had left for the afternoon; Swing had just left on their own cases. The halls of the lab reflected the abandonment, growing silent as people dispersed. Grissom moved towards the coffee pot, glancing occasionally at Warrick. After pouring himself his cup of coffee, he moved to the sofa and sat down next to the young man. Warrick was staring straight ahead at the TV as the local news went through the top stories. "Warrick, what are you doing here at this time?"

"Working my case; watching the news." Grissom nodded, sipping on his coffee. Warrick continued to stare straight ahead, leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees. "Coverage has slowed, but…"

"There's more pressure than ever to close your case."

Warrick sighed. "Yeah. I just can't seem to get anywhere."

"Warrick…" He paused, debating whether to continue on with his line of thought, knowing that what he was thinking also applied to him. He was trying very hard not to be hypocritical, recognizing that he also was wandering around the lab at, what was for them, an unusual hour. Besides, the team followed his example, and the example he was setting was of a man, obsessed with a case, who didn't want to be at home. And, just as he had for years, Warrick was following that example. Grissom stopped.

The relationship he'd developed with his team over the years, was such that they almost always knew what he was about to say when it pertained to their reaction to a case. It was particularly telling when he would start a sentence with a name and then stop speaking altogether. It was something that he often did when he worried about his team, and something he'd employed, especially with Sara, more times than he could count. He'd either lost his words, or stopped himself, knowing how his words wouldn't match his actions. His team always knew where he was going though, and Warrick was no different. It was why Grissom wasn't surprised when Warrick acknowledged his name and began to speak. "Look Griss, I'd be at home, but Tina left for work, and I was thinking too much…about nothing, so I decided to come in and think about my case instead. I haven't been here long."

He nodded. He could relate. It was the exact same reason he was in the lab. "Okay."

After the quiet acceptance of each other's presence, it became silent again. Both men turned to the news, watching as the station moved onto the story of Catherine's and Nick's burnt bodies. Grissom felt Warrick shudder beside him, and knowing what the case pertained, he shuddered as well. The news anchors ended the story by asking for people to step forward with information, when Ecklie entered the room. "Gil, you're here."

Grissom furrowed his brow. "Yes I am, Conrad."

"You didn't answer your cell."

"My cell is in my office. I just stepped out."

"Well, I needed to get a hold of you. A woman's body has just been found off Blue Diamond Road. Days and Swing are both tapped out. I need your team to take it."

He took the slip from Ecklie's hand, studying it. The slip reported a battered woman's body being found about four-hundred meters from the road. After giving Ecklie a quick nod, he watched Ecklie exit the break room. Grissom sighed. "_Who goes to bed and_ _dreams up this horror every night?_"

Warrick was looking at him, head cocked, intense green eyes gazing at his. "Who said that?"

"Hawkeye Pierce." He shook his head, clearing his thoughts. "Here." He handed Warrick the slip. "Greg and I have open cases from last night to work through. Catherine and Nick have their case. I hate to have to give this to you, but you're here and your case is at a standstill…"

"I've got it, Grissom."

"Thank you."

Warrick nodded, sharing an understanding look with him. He watched as Warrick put his coffee cup into the sink and headed out the door. Grissom followed, heading back to his own office, his coffee cup in his hand.

Back in his office, he closed the door behind him and sat behind his desk. His hands ran over the dead woman's file, but he forced himself not to pick it up. Instead, he picked up a file containing a burglary from the previous night, and began to sift through it. His eyes kept darting over to the other file, and finally he closed the file on the burglary and shut his eyes. He was tired.

Time passed slowly as he sat, eyes closed, behind the desk. He wasn't asleep, just resting, yet his cell phone woke him, bringing his thoughts back to his location, to the files in front of him, and back to reality. At first he was annoyed at the intrusion into the first semblence of peace he'd had in days, but when he glanced at the screen and his home phone number reflected back at him, a smile formed on his face. He opened the phone and placed it next to his ear. "Sara, you're home."

"_Excuse me?_"

His heart stopped for one second. His eyes grew wide, before he realized what had happened. He relaxed. "That wasn't funny."

"_It was from this end._" He heard her snicker and he had to smile.

"So, you're back?"

"_Obviously. I got in early, thought I'd come over and surprise you. Where are you?_"

He sighed. "At the lab. I had to come in early."

"_Rough week?_"

He nodded to himself, running a hand through his hair. But, she was home, and that made everything better. He thought about heading home, but remembered that he just sent Warrick out on a case. Warrick could use some help. "Yeah. Listen, I would love to go home and see you, but I just sent Warrick out. Do you think you could give him a hand?"

"_Sure._"

He smiled. There was no hesitation in her answer. There were only a few times when she was reluctant to take a case, and that was only when they were finally spending time together after many long hours of working apart. He gave her the details and hung up on a goodbye and a promise to meet up later.

_5:41 PM_

Sara hung up the phone with a smile on her face. Grissom's promise to meet up later was enough to keep her smiling all evening. Things had changed so much between them over the summer. He was opening himself up to her, had given her a key to his townhouse. Two months before she never would have shown up at his place unexpected, regardless of the relationship they'd been in for a year. Now, it was okay, completely okay. He didn't question her presence in his home, or that she'd used his home phone to call him. He'd accepted her into his life. Brass's shooting had been a catalyst for it all, and while she hated what had occurred for it to happen, she wouldn't return to the way it was before for anything.

Grabbing her keys and leaving Grissom a short note to let him know she missed him, she exited the townhouse, climbed into her car and started the engine. Her smile never left her face as she drove to meet Warrick at his scene.

Vartann met her as she pulled her car to a stop. He opened the door for her and she climbed out of the car, giving Vartann a smile. Rounding to the back of her vehicle, she pulled out her kit and began walking towards Warrick. He was bent over the body, examining it. She approached him from behind. "Grissom said you could use a hand."

Warrick turned and beamed at her. "Hey Sara, you're back."

"Yeah, I just got in."

"How was Los Angeles?"

"It was alright. So, what have we got?"

"Dead woman, early-twenties. It looks like she was beaten to death. Look at all the contusions."

Sara bent down next to him. She nodded, wincing at the cuts and bruises littered across the body. She hated cases involving battered women, but Warrick was there with her, and she'd always found him a calming presence. He would keep things light for her without ever approaching anything inappropriate. Besides, his intensity matched hers, and it was a great combination for solving cases. He could keep her grounded and keep her involved at the same time. They'd go to the edge together, but he'd pull her back before they fell. Sara turned her face towards Warrick, giving him a half smile that contained both her relief that she was working with him on this, and that showed her immediate investment in the case. Warrick returned the smile with a knowing look of his own. His eyes told her he was right there with her. She knew he had her back, and would be there if she needed.

Moving over the victim's body, Sara's hand came up to brush the hair from the victim's face, but stopped short. She glanced up at David by the coroner's van, then back down at the victim. "Has David examined her yet?"

"Yeah. You can touch her. The body is coming out of Rigor. She's been dead for at least eight hours."

A gloved hand came down to brush the errant hairs away from the face. Through the latex, Sara could feel the heat. "The body is still warm."

"It's been out in the sun all day."

She nodded. Her eyes wandered over the face of the young woman, before heading down the body, taking in each mark on her exposed skin. She shook her head sadly. "Any id on the body?"

"No. Her pockets were empty."

"Hmm," she mumbled half to herself as she continued to study the woman's face.

"Glad to be back?"

She knew he was joking, but she was happy to be back. "Actually, yes I am."

"So, what did you do? Get back and immediately call Grissom to check in?" She turned, finding Warrick right next to her. His voice was teasing and she couldn't help but smile.

"Something like that," she answered, turning her head away, trying to hide her blush.

"Can't stay away from work, can you?"

Stifling a laugh, Sara had to bite down on her lip. She shrugged. "You know me." Needing to change the subject, she stood and began taking photographs, directing both their attention back to the case. "Could David give you COD?"

"Blunt force trauma. His estimate was that she was beaten to death."

"That explains the bruises. What about all of the cuts?" Sara's camera snapped photos of the body, as she spoke. "There are a lot of places where the killer broke skin."

"She was beaten with something. The weapon probably had a sharp edge of some sort." Warrick stood, taking his own photographs and placing down evidence markers. "Sara, what do you make of all this rock around here? I've never seen so many rocks here before."

"I'm not sure. What are you thinking?"

"Normally, if we processed a body here, it would be a body dump, right?"

"Yeah."

"So, it the body was dumped here, maybe the rocks were as well."

"For what purpose?"

"I don't know. Any ideas?"

"No." Her eyes wandered around the rocks. Taking more pictures, she bent down to the stones and studied them. "Warrick," she paused, picking up a rock and examining it, running her finger along the rough edge. "This one has blood on it."

"What?" Warrick moved next to her. She held up the rock and showed it to him. He took it from her hand, studying the trace amount of blood. "She was beaten with a rock?"

"Weapon of opportunity?"

"So then, where was she killed? I am having a hard time believing she was killed here. This rock had to have been brought in. Besides, she's been dead for hours. There aren't any signs of animal activity; there aren't any bugs present…"

"So, she was killed somewhere else, and dumped with the object she was killed with."

"Why all the other rocks?" Warrick moved amongst the stones, fingering each one. "Sara, more that one of these rocks has trace amounts of blood on them. The jagged edges on at least four of these rocks have blood."

Sara paused from her position, staring at Warrick with wide eyes. "Only the jagged edges? Not the smooth parts?"

"No. I've only spotted blood where the surface of the rock is sharp."

She moved next to Warrick, photographing each rock before picking it up and studying it. "You're right. If all this blood matches the victim, she was beaten by more than one rock."

"And possibly more than one person. A single killer wouldn't keep dropping his rock only to pick up another to use on her….unless he was throwing them at her."

"You think she could have been stoned to death?"

"I think it's a possibility. The stones with the jagged edges cut into the victim while the other stones merely bruised her. Besides, look at her cuts and contusions. If she was beaten by the rocks, wouldn't there be more damage and more blood on the rocks? Right now, stoning makes more sense."

"You know, the traditional practice of stoning has the victim being partially buried before being stoned. Within the common method, men are buried to their waist and women are buried to their shoulders before they're stoned to death. This woman's body is exposed."

"Sounds like something you'd know."

Sara slapped him good-naturedly across the shoulder. "Ouch." Warrick faked the emission of pain, earning a laugh from her. "So, if she was stoned to death, it wasn't by the traditional method. Maybe it was a chase; she was running from her killer, he was throwing rocks to incapacitate her."

"There are no signs of a chase here. A few blown over tracks, but nothing to indicate a chase." She stood up, surveying the area and adding confirmation to her words.

"But we've decided it was more likely she was killed elsewhere."

"I haven't quite decided that yet. Besides, if it was a chase, and the killer wanted to cover his tracks, he would have had to pick up every stone he threw."

"That could account for all the others. He over compensated, and picked up every stone he found, dumping them all with the body." Warrick stood beside her. They both looked around at the stones spread around their feet.

"Well, we need to find out where these stones came from. That could give us a potential crime scene, if we aren't already standing on it."

"And we'll have to check all of these rocks for blood."

"Leave no stone unturned."

Her joke caused Warrick to groan. "That was so…Grissom."

She laughed, smiling inwardly at the mention of Grissom's name. "Come on, we've got a lot of work to do."

_8:22 PM_

They'd gathered every stone in the surrounding area, bagging each bloodied one individually, and placing all the others in a separate box. David had left with the body an hour before. Warrick packed away the box containing all of the stones and returned to where Sara and Vartann were standing. "Well, that's the last of them. Are you ready to get back to the lab?"

He watched as Sara wiped her brow. He handed her a bottle of water he'd brought back with him. She took it, giving him a smile. "Thanks." Sara took the bottle, pouring the liquid down her throat. She handed the bottle back to him. "I'm ready." He nodded, watching her move towards her vehicle. He remained in his place, staring out over the desert. There was still some light out, but the light was fading, making way for night and the moon was visible in the evening light. He heard steps behind him and knew Sara had come to rest beside him. "Something wrong, Warrick?"

The sigh he omitted was heavy. "I was just thinking about this past week."

"Grissom said you had a tough one. Did you get anywhere with the homicide you and Catherine were working when I left?"

"No, it's still open."

"It's always harder when it involves children." The lilt of her voice was soothing and accepting.

Sara's hand was warm on his shoulder. He turned his face and looked down at her hand resting on him. He looked down at his own hands, his wedding band glinting in the dying sun. Everyone had offered him comfort that past week, with the exception of his wife. She hadn't wanted to hear it, but he figured it was because his other case had been close to her too. It had happened in her hospital. Tina didn't want to hear how he didn't have any answers, and he couldn't really blame her. It wasn't that she didn't offer him any solace; she'd offered it silently. He just wished she could give him a little more. His colleagues around him were all there for him, despite being caught up in their own brutal cases. Now, it was Sara, who had to have been affected more deeply by this recent case than he. They were investigating the death of a battered woman, possibly stoned to death, and Sara was standing beside him, consoling him. Before, it was Grissom providing comfort when a case involving a mutilated woman had all of his attention. Catherine and Nick, when he had passed them, were there for him also, even though they were working on a case involving a woman burnt alive over her dead husband. They had all been dealing with really bizarre, shockingly dreadful cases. He shook his head. "It's not only that. It's the whole past week. The team has gone from one terrible case to another. It just so hard to deal with it all and be there for each other when we're all going through similar things on our own."

Sara's hand pushed him to the sand, sitting him down on it. She sat down next to him. "So, catch me up. I've missed it all. I'll help you all deal."

"You just stepped into this." He waved his arm and indicated the area that had previously held the woman's body and all the stones surrounding her.

"Rick."

He sighed. "Well, you know about the case Catherine and I were working on when you left." Sara nodded. "Well, after you left, Grissom and Greg pulled a case involving a dead hooker in a hotel. She was mutilated. They recovered almost no evidence, and with other new cases coming in, they've had to work around it. Grissom's been…well, acting very Grissom about it. You know how he is. Greg took it hard. He found it very disturbing."

"I bet." Sara's voice was soft. She looked at him, urging him to continue.

"Then, Catherine was pulled from our case to work on a new one with Nick. A woman was burnt alive over her husband's corpse. You can imagine how they both reacted to it…" Warrick felt Sara's body stiffen beside him. She sat straight up, looking at him, not with horror as her actions would normally express, but with a curious look, as though her mind was spinning and trying to work through something. "What is it?"

"Could these cases be connected? Same killer, different MO?"

Warrick stared at her, trying to read her thoughts. He spoke slowly. "Why?"

"The dead prostitute, how was she mutilated?"

"Her genitals were cut off, clitoris and vaginal folds."

"Warrick, walk through this with me. Dead prostitute – female genital mutilation, widow, burnt over her husband's corpse, and now, a woman stoned to death? These are all very old cultural practices that have survived centuries, and are still used on women in other parts of the world today. It can't be a coincidence that the lab has seen three separate cases in the past week." Sara stood, brushing the sand from her pants. Warrick looked up at her before standing beside her and following her quick stride back to their vehicles. "Let's get back to the lab. If Doc Robbins can confirm COD, we'll have a better idea of what we're looking at."

He nodded slowly, his mind now spinning as well. He caught Sara looking at him with soft, almost regretful eyes. "Sorry Rick, you okay?"

"Yeah," his mind was all over the place as he began making the connections Sara had made. All the other thoughts that had been troubling him were gone, replaced by new ones that added fear into the equation. He met her eyes and nodded. "Yeah, let's go. I'll follow you back."


	10. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

_Tuesday, September 5__th__, 2006  
__9:11 PM_

There are some things that are hard to see, and some that are harder. There jobs made usual the hard to see. Lately, Warrick had been seeing the harder. Their victim was laying out nude on the morgue table before them. The bruising across the young woman's body became more visible once her cloths were removed. When they arrived in the room to see Doc Robbins leaning over the body, Warrick chanced a glance at Sara, seeing a grim expression equal to his own. Cameras in hand, Warrick and Sara carefully catalogued each round bruise, before stepping back so that Doc Robbins could begin the autopsy. Warrick watched in silence, exchanging glances with Sara as he stared down at the battered body. When it was over, Doc Robbins confirmed the Cause of Death: Subdural Hematoma. It was no surprise that a blow to the head had caused the young woman's death. The surprise came when Doc Robbins announced that their victim also had eight crushed vertebrae, all in a line.

Doc Robbins' announcement stopped Warrick in his tracks. He looked over at Sara, who was already questioning the doctor. "Her spine is crushed?"

Doc Robbins flipped the body onto its side, showing Warrick and Sara where the damage was done. Warrick studied the area, noting the bruising surrounding the area. Doc Robbins handed Warrick the X-rays he'd taken before the two CSIs had returned to the lab. "She had to have been hit with a lot of pressure, or had a very heavy weight dropped on her."

"Our theory was that she was stoned to death."

"It's a good theory. All of the other injuries are consistent with stoning. However, the rock that hit your Jane Doe's back had to have been very heavy. I doubt it was thrown at her. It would take a man competing in the Highland Games to create enough force to throw a rock large enough to create the kind of injury your Jane Doe sustained. More likely, it was dropped on her after she was already down."

Warrick glanced at Sara, thinking back to the crime scene. "There was a small to mid-sized boulder not far from where the body was found. I didn't think much of it at the crime scene, because it was the only rock that didn't seem out of place, and we were working on the assumption that the surrounding stones were the weapons used, but it was big enough, and probably heavy enough to cause the damage inflicted on her."

"We have to go back to the crime scene."

"Yeah. Look, let's finish up here. Can you get prints and DNA off?" Sara nodded and he looked at Doc Robbins, continuing, "Doc, have you sent a tox panel to Henry?"

"Yes. Your Jane Doe's blood came back clean."

He nodded. "Alright, thanks Doc. Sara, I'll get the rocks we've collected to trace, then head back out to the scene with an officer. I'll meet up with you later." Warrick paused, looking back at the young woman's body before glancing back at Sara. "I'm beginning to think you might be right."

"Rick, can you swab the stones with blood on them, then bring them back here? I want to see if I can match our Jane Doe's wounds with the ridge outlines of the rocks. If we can get enough ridge detail, we might be able to find the rock that caused the fatal blow."

"Good idea." He paused before leaving. "Doc, were there any signs of sexual assault?"

"There was some bruising, indicative of rough, but consensual sex. No signs of forced entry."

"Hmm, thanks, Doc." He left, a little relieved the victim had been spared that violence.

_11:37 PM_

She knocked softly on the office door, opening it slowly when she heard the familiar voice answer. She stepped in and gave Grissom a small smile which he returned. Closing the door softly behind her, she moved towards the empty chair across from him. She took a seat and leaned forward, resting her forearms on the desk. "Hi." Her voice was soft, almost shy, but after not seeing him for six days, she didn't even know where to begin.

"Hi."

His response had been equally soft and tender and for a moment it left her breathless. Then, she remembered that she wasn't stealing away a moment just to be with him, but that she had something to discuss with him. She sighed and sat up, leaning back against the chair. "Griss, tell me about the crime scene you and Greg have been working on."

Grissom frowned, leaning back in his own chair. "Sara, I think you've got it backwards. I'm the supervisor. You're supposed to brief me on your cases."

Despite the puzzled frown, his voice held a degree of levity. Underneath the levity, though, Sara was certain she could detect a hint edge to the cadence. He was reluctant to speak to her about it. She understood that. From what Warrick had told her, the case had shaken Grissom, though he wouldn't let it show, and she knew part of the reason he was holding back was his fear about how it would affect her. She pressed on. "Please Griss, it's important. I'll explain later, but I need to know."

It was silent as he studied her. She held his eyes, communicating to him that she needed to hear it and that she could handle it. She gave him a closed mouth smile when his features showed he was about to cave in. "Alright. A young woman's body was found in an off-strip motel. When Greg and I arrived, the woman lying, spread eagle, on top of a shower curtain, tied down to the bed. There was blood covering her pelvis and upper legs, pooling in between her legs on the shower curtain." Sara winced and Grissom stopped his description. She shook her head, urging him to continue. "The room was spotless. It had been sterilized before the murder had been committed."

Sara furrowed her brow, her mind processing the information and the meaning behind the sterile motel room. She caught Grissom watching her. "Sorry, go on."

"Greg checked the bathroom. It was also sterile, with the exception of a few items left on display. On a white towel, in the middle of the bathroom floor, there were two bloody scalpels and a bowl containing our victim's genitalia. On the edge of the tub, there was a closed cell phone, and sitting on top of the toilet's tank, there was a needle, containing traces of heroin, used by our victim to shoot-up earlier that day."

"Can I see the pictures?"

"Sara, what's this about?"

She sighed. Grissom's description of the sterile room had lent more credence to her theory that the murders were connected. However, she had to see his seen before she could voice her theory to Grissom. "I'll let you know in a minute. I need to see the pictures first."

The folder containing the photos came out. Sara could sense the reluctance Grissom had in showing her. His hand hovered over the folder, hesitating before slowly opening it and revealing the contents. Sara wheeled her chair around his desk, leaning over his shoulder to glance down at the photos. The images before her were graphic and she found herself unconsciously biting down on her lip. She nodded and wheeled her chair away, putting a couple feet of space between her and her supervisor.

"Want to tell me what this is about, now?"

"Warrick's and my victim was stoned to death."

"Stoned?"

"Yes. I matched a rock at the scene to a puncture in the victim's skull. Warrick and I found other rocks at the scene. I was able to match some of the other rocks to other wounds found on our victim."

"Okay…"

"Warrick said that Nick and Catherine have a case where a widow was burned over her husband's corpse."

"And you think they're all related?"

"As crazy as it sounds, yes, I do. I know we don't have any evidence to support it yet, but I feel it inside me. I mean, three women killed by practices we don't see in Vegas, all killed within a week. I know we see some pretty messed up stuff, but for this to happen, all at once."

"Sara, the practices don't have a common cultural thread. FGC and stoning are known to occur in Sub Saharan Africa, while Sati and stoning have been used in Indian practice."

"Stoning in common to both. Maybe there's a thread we don't know about. I can research it, check the web, hit the University library and see what I can find. The photos of your crime scene show an obsession with presentation. Ours did as well. The stones we collected seemed so out of place. We aren't sure where our Jane Doe was killed, the wind swept away all tracks and traces around the body, but if she was killed elsewhere and dumped in the desert, the killer went to great lengths to collect all the stones he used and arrange them around our Jane Doe's body."

"Somebody built a funeral pyre for Nick and Catherine's victim."

Grissom's words only helped to strengthen her theory. Her mind was working in overdrive. Building a funeral pyre fit in with the creation of a presentation. Sara turned to Grissom, her eyes alight. "We need to find the common thread."

It took a few moments for Grissom to form a response. Sara stared at him, her eyes drawn to the way his lips were pursed in thought. Suddenly, he turned back to her and his eyes flashed. "Unless the murders aren't about what is common, but what is uncommon."

"What do you mean?"

"The hotel room and the cell phone left in the hotel room bathroom were both registered to Emile Durkheim."

"Great, so we're looking for a dead sociologist."

"Well, I think we can omit Durkheim from any list of suspects we create, but maybe we're looking for a fan."

"A fan of Durkheim?"

"Or someone who fancies himself a modern Durkheim, studying the practices Durkheim may have studied himself."

"Durkheim focused a lot of his work on religion, the sacred and the profane, and how it was used to organize society. Somehow I don't think these murders cover it. And, I am sure Durkheim would never approve."

"Durkheim also focused on the practices that continued to exist after a cohesive religion was formed. The killer could be concentrating on those, using the murders to study them."

"Conducting his own social experiment?" Her own words caused a cold chill to run through her body. It had only been months ago they'd had a case where a man decided to become a modern Dr. Mengele and was experimenting on humans, performing eye transplants and lobotomies on his victims. "Griss, you don't think we're looking at another Leon Sneller, do you? Social experimentation rather than biological?"

Sara watched Grissom freeze in place. Suddenly she was sorry she brought it up. That case had been inordinately trying on Grissom, not only because of what the case involved, but who. Now, it looked as though Grissom was reliving the experience, and trying once again to come to grips with everything that case had brought up. Finally he moved, shaking his head sadly, and Sara could breathe again. Grissom's voice was soft, his eyes full of worry. "I don't know, but if the murders are connected, we're looking at a careful, meticulously obsessed killer."

"This had to have taken some planning, but also required a great deal of opportunity, especially with the case of Sati."

"It's possible the killer changed the order when opportunity arose. The third victim may have been slotted to be killed second."

"When did each of the murders occur?"

"The murder in the hotel occurred on September 1st. Nick and Catherine's Sati occurred on the third."

"And Warrick's and my victim was killed sometime this morning."

"The fifth. If you're right, we're looking for someone killing at the rate of every second day."

_Wednesday, September 6__th__, 2006  
__12:02 AM_

There have been times when he felt he'd been swimming, barely keeping his head above water. Cases had worn him down; the people working the cases had worn him down. Some of those times he felt as though he were drunk, uncomprehending, not working in capacity, seeing the world through blurred lenses as lines began to blur between the personal and impersonal. While this was not yet one of those times, Sara's words certainly had reminded him of those times.

When Sara spoke of Leon Sneller, it had completely blindsided him. Leon Sneller translated to Zoe Kessler, which, in turn, translated to Heather Kessler. That had been a tough case to handle, lines blurring between the personal and impersonal. At the time, he'd been basking in the glow of what was a glorious affair, and had suddenly and unexpectedly been confronted with his feelings for another woman. Even knowing he was in love with Sara hadn't helped. Heather Kessler had needed him and he felt obliged to be there, driven slightly by guilt, but even more by some invisible string which drew him to her. Sara was his…he couldn't catalogue what she was, but she was the woman who completely undid him, the one woman he could not stop his mind from thinking about or straying to. When the Sneller case came up, he hadn't thought about Heather Kessler in a long time, but there was something about seeing her needing him that drew him back in and he couldn't deny caring about her. While he'd come to realize it was just friendship, he knew that Sara didn't have that same understanding. All Sara saw was the string, invisible to him, but very clear to her. She'd been patient through it all, but he'd been clearly able to see the level of discomfort she had with the case and with his relationship to Heather Kessler. And now, Sara was bringing up that case again? The first case to really test the bounds of their relationship?

Things had changed. In the months since Jim had been shot, things had definitely changed. The affair had morphed into a relationship as he began to open up to her and give her more of himself. While the feelings Grissom had for Sara had intensified in the past months, the real change came when he became more willing to express those feelings, not verbally but definitely in his actions. He cared for Sara, very deeply, and willing to show it, if not to the world, than to Sara herself. Sara was…everything. And now, she was delving, face first, into the incomprehensible. Putting the issues from the previous case aside, he was now worried about how invested Sara was in this new case. As he looked at her case photos and thought back to Catherine's and Nick's, he began to see more of a connection. The case was drawing him in as well.

His mind was spinning, between the past and the present, between two cases equally horrifying, between the feelings each of the cases brought forth. Was it supposed to spin like that? He needed it to stop. He needed to find a way to deal with what was going on, but there wasn't the time. There would time later to analyze the workings of his mind, but for the moment, he had to suspend it all and focus on the night's assignments.

Warrick was the only person missing from the break room, but he'd expected that after being told by Sara that Warrick went back out to the crime scene. The rest of the team was assembled, waiting on him. He glanced quickly at Sara, noting her expression let him know she was waiting for him to take the lead. He glanced around at the other occupants, at Greg gazing back at him in expectation, at Catherine, looking impatient as she waited for him to speak so she could get on with her own case, and at Nick, whose own expression was caught in between the two, anxious and expectant. Grissom cleared his throat. "Before I hand out assignments, I want to put forth a theory that was outlined to me. We have three cases, all involving practices we don't see in this area. While the MO's may be different, the theory is that the cases may be connected. After hearing it out, I am inclined to follow the line of theory and investigate it."

"You're kidding right?"

"What's the third case?"

"No way!"

Voices were flying at him. He looked at the disbelief on the faces of his colleagues and nodded softly. "We don't know for sure, but it's too big a coincidence to go ignored. Warrick and Sara are investigating a stoning. We have three murdered females, all Caucasian, two young, one old. They were all killed by practices that are or were common to other cultures. Each of the murders occurred two days apart."

"No, I don't buy the connection. What's the signature?"

Grissom turned to Catherine. "If the theory is correct, the signature ties into the cultural element. In all three cases, the killer went to great lengths to show us exactly what he'd done. There was no mistaking any of the practices. With regards to Greg's and my case, the killer called himself Emile Durkheim. Maybe, in some round-about way he was telling us then what he was doing. Look, I know there isn't any tangible evidence supporting the connection yet, but it's something we have to look into. For now you'll continue to investigate the cases separately. Nick, Catherine, you continue working on your case. Warrick, when he returns from his crime scene, will continue working on his. Greg, you can help Warrick when he returns, which should be soon. If any new cases come up, you'll handle them. If need be, I'll help. For now, I'll work with Sara, seeing if we can find anything that can connect the cases and the practices. Alright?" The faces glancing back at him were all filled with uncertainty; Greg's more along the lines of bewilderment. Grissom shook it off. They had work to do. He looked at Sara and nodded his head towards the door. She nodded back, standing as she did so. He waited for her to pass in front and then followed her from the room.


	11. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

_Wednesday, September 6__th__, 2006  
__12:09 AM_

While the argument was strong, Nick wasn't entirely convinced the three murders the team had been investigating were connected. Sure, they all involved woman, but he still had his lingering doubts. After Grissom had informed them of the aspects involved in his and Catherine's case, Nick had looked up Sati. Of the three murders, the murder within his and Catherine's case was the only murder that could really be classified as ritualistic. It was the only custom no longer in common practice anywhere, and when it was a common practice, it was practiced in India, not Africa, unlike the practices involved in the other two murders. And, his and Catherine's victim was forty years older that the other two victims. While he wasn't about to throw away the theory, knowing you never throw away a theory that Grissom voiced, he still felt like it was a bit of a stretch. He found himself torn, between his trust in Grissom and the obvious differences his case was presenting. And, truth be told, he didn't really know what was scarier, that one man could be responsible for it all, or that separate people had brutally murdered three different women in the span of one week. He was more than a little relieved that Grissom at least hadn't totally jumped on the theory and was letting them investigate their cases individually. He didn't want to have to think about the other cases. His case was bad enough, horrible, and he wanted to focus his attention on it. And, that was what he was doing, watching Mandy pour over prints, while he stood in the doorway, watching with an amused smile.

Mandy's eyebrows were scrunched up on her forehead. Her lips were drawn together. She didn't look at all thrilled to be sorting through the dozens of prints he and Catherine had left for her. Nick grinned as he stepped into the lab. "Mandy, you got anything for us yet?"

The eyes directed back at him were full of fire, as though Mandy was not at all amused by his question. He could only smirk. He held out a cup of coffee and shrugged when she raised her eyebrows. "You better come over here if you want this coffee. You know you can't drink it in the lab."

"I know that, Nick. If you think this is enough of a peace offering…"

"It's only a start, darling."

"It better be." Mandy took the cup from his hand and stood next to him in the doorway. "It'll be hours before I get through those." She nodded towards her work station. "I did, however, find something. I ran the prints you took from the coffin against the prints you and Catherine collected from the victim's family, and I came up with a couple of matches." Mandy handed him her cup of coffee and returned to the doorway with a file. "First match, Jay Fletcher."

"He's the victim's oldest son. Took care of most of the arrangements. Stands to reason his prints would be on his father's coffin."

"Alright, second match was to Jacob Blackley."

"The mortician. Also to be expected."

He handed Mandy back her coffee and took the file. He watched her sip from the mug in between glances at the file. Elijah Blackley was the contact for the funeral home on the weekend. Nick felt the need to confirm one more thing. "Any chance we pulled a print from the coffin that matched to an Elijah Blackley?"

Mandy raised an eyebrow. "No, no matches."

"Thank you." He waved the file at her as he walked away. "Page me if you get anything else from the prints."

"Don't think you'll get away without giving me what you owe me, Nick Stokes!"

Nick turned around to see Mandy smirking at him. He grinned. "Tell you what, if you're a good girl, I'll bring you breakfast after shift."

"Why, Mr. Stokes."

Nick turned around again, chuckling as he made his way down the hall. He looked into the layout room and saw Catherine fingering a piece of the burnt wood they collected. She looked like she wanted to bang that piece of wood against her own head, not that she'd ever do something like that. Still, Nick could see the frustration.

"Nick," Catherine spun her head towards his, "Hodges tested every single piece of wood for any trace of accelerant and came up empty. The bastard didn't use anything. She would have felt the heat increase and slowly burn her, all while choking on the smoke."

"Doris Fletcher did die of asphyxiation. The smoke would have built up before the fire. Hopefully she died quickly."

"Do you really think she did?"

He sighed. "I think, in this case, her age might have worked in her favor." He looked over at a piece of rope sitting on the layout table. "Did Vega get anywhere in tracing the rope."

"Nope. He only found a couple more places that sell jute rope, and neither of those places could give him a name to go along with any purchases of the rope. He's still looking, but…" Nick nodded, knowing the reasons behind Catherine's doubt. Catherine shook her head. "Did Mandy give you anything?"

"She's still buried. She did manage to isolate the prints from the coffin and she compared them to the prints we lifted earlier. Two matches were found. Jay Fletcher and Jacob Blackley."

"Both with reasons to have their prints on the coffin."

He sighed. "Yeah." He looked at Catherine and studied her. "What do you think of the cases being connected?"

"Right now, I'm not sure that I buy it. Ours seems so different." Catherine paused a moment, looking directly at him before looking back down at the evidence on the table. "But, I might be just trying to convince myself. Grissom would know more on the subject than us, and well, if he thinks that there is something to go on, then…"

Nick nodded, comforted that her thoughts were running along the same lines as his.

_6:14 AM_

The familiar figure was hunched over a computer in a pose he'd seen many times before. Warrick shook his head, wondering if her eyes were beginning to blur yet. He'd seen her in the same position more than a few hours before, when he'd returned from their crime scene the second time. He wondered if she'd taken a break at all in that time, but that thought gave way to doubt. Sara Sidle didn't take breaks unless she was dead on her feet. She seemingly hadn't moved the entire time, except for maybe her finger, which was clicking away at the mouse. The only change he saw in her was her posture (now more tired and hunched than before), and her eyes, increasing in redness after staring at a computer screen for so long. He stepped inside the office and took a seat next to her. "How's it coming?"

He watched as Sara rubbed her eyes and stretched her back before facing him. She tried to suppress a yawn, but was unsuccessful. Warrick let out a small chuckle. "It's coming. I've searched every academic site I could think of. I found a common element. Apparently, FGC is practiced in India. The Bohra Muslims of India and Pakistan are known to practice FGC."

"Okay, but aren't we looking for a cultural connection? Correct me if I'm wrong, but Sati was practiced by factions of the Hinduism, was it not?"

"It was, but the Bohra were originally Hindu, and converted to Islam. The group could tie the elements together. I have no evidence of this yet, but, if someone was studying the customs of the group over time, that person might see all of the practices we've come across. Besides, it's the only connection I could find between the three. I don't know if the group has ever practiced Sati, or used stoning as a method of execution, I haven't been able to find any concrete information on it, but it was practiced in the area, and it is more than possible that the Bohra group was syncretistic and melded various practices used by both religions into their culture."

Warrick looked at her, watching her eyes dance as she spouted off her research. She was definitely awake now and gaining more life as she spoke. It seemed almost like a chore keeping up to her. "Wait, so you think we're looking at someone possibly from the Bohra population of India."

"Not from, but maybe knowledgeable of. Someone studying the practices of India, over time perhaps, and applying those practices to here. According to Grissom, the hotel room in his and Greg's case was registered to Emile Durkheim…"

"Who?"

"The father of sociology. Grissom thinks that maybe this is some messed up social experiment and that we shouldn't be looking for the common, but the uncommon. However, if we're looking for a man fashioning himself as Durkheim, this might be a place to start. Durkheim was interested in the practices that remained over time. The mutilation of the prostitute occurred first. It could signal the new, as it was only practiced by the Bohra after they converted to Islam. The stoning and the Sati could signal the old practices that survived the transition."

"Huh." He had no words. When Sara ran with a theory it was hard to stop her, particularly when she'd done the research and had more of a knowledge base on the subject. And, somehow he was following her and her line of thinking. He grinned and watched as she returned the grin. "So, what did everybody say when you told them you thought the cases might be connected?"

"Grissom told them. I told Grissom. He seemed reluctant at first, then ran with it and told the rest of the team. Greg looked stunned, Nick looked unconvinced, and Catherine practically scoffed outright."

"You can't really blame them though. The theory is a little out there."

"I don't blame them, but I would appreciate a little support."

Warrick rested his hand on her shoulder. "You've got mine. We're a team after all. I'll run with you, even if it all comes crashing down on us."

"Thanks Rick, I appreciate that."

He gave her shoulder a playful shake. "Anytime."

"Sorry I bailed on helping you with your case."

"You're working it, just from a different angle." He gave her another playful shake before withdrawing his arm and leaning back in his chair. He looked at her with a grin. "Hey, do you want to hear what I really came down here for?"

"You found something." Her eyes sparkled when they met his, excitement wafting off her. Her enthusiasm was contagious. Sara got more excited by evidence than anyone he'd ever met. It was like finding it was her biggest thrill. He grinned. "Yeah. That boulder we overlooked had a couple little prizes for us." He used the word prize, knowing it was exactly how Sara saw it. Her eyes lit up even brighter, and he continued, "I found a few traces of blood, and by some miracle, a skin tag, hiding in a little crevice. I sent DNA to Wendy. She's checking it against the victim now."

"It could be from dropping it on her."

"Yes, I think he would have had to hold it close to his body. If he was wearing short sleeves, it is possible he scraped himself on the rock. If Wendy doesn't get a match to our victim, we may have a DNA profile for our killer."

"Nice work! Do we have an id on our victim yet?"

"Not yet. Mandy is backed up from Nick and Catherine's case, but she just promised me she'd insert our victim's prints in that mix right away, as long as we don't let Nick know. CODIS and missing persons haven't kicked anything out yet for Wendy. The blood on the rocks did match our victim's DNA though."

"I wasn't able to get enough ridge detail to isolate the rock that caused the fatal blow, but at least we can narrow down our murder weapons."

"Got that right." He stood up, extending his hand to her. "Take a break from this and help me out with a little experiment. I need your expertise."

He grinned at her scoff. "What expertise would those be, exactly."

"Physics, never my strong suit."

"Whatever, you're light years ahead of Catherine, Nick and Greg, and possibly even a little ahead of Grissom in that department."

"Always best to consult the expert. Besides, you're a different size and weight and that might be of help too."

"What kind of experiment were you thinking of?"

"I thought maybe we'd drop a bolder on a dummy, then throw stones at it."

"Yeah, alright, I can see how that could help us out."

"Right on. Log off and let's go."

He waited for Sara to log off and follow, before leading her to the garage where a dummy was already waiting. "Victim was found lying on her back. I've positioned the dummy to match the position of our Jane Doe." He stared at the dummy, before looking back to Sara and watching as her scrunched up in concentration as she looked between the case file and the dummy. "What is it, Sar?"

"All of the bruising occurred in the front."

Warrick's eyes widened and he looked at her. "Why didn't I know that?"

Sara looked over at him and her face softened. "She was lying on her back in the desert, and in autopsy, and you were busy looking through other evidence afterwards. You would have found Doc Robbins's note in the file when you got to looking through it."

Warrick gave her a thankful smile, and then joined Sara in looking back down at the dummy. "Well, it wasn't a chase. If she were running away while the killer was throwing stones at her, her back would have bruises on it."

"She didn't have any ligature marks, so she wasn't bound, and her blood work was clean."

"She could have been lured."

"Then what? If it were me, as soon as I was hit by a stone I'd be running. She had to have been incapacitated first."

"So how did he incapacitate her?" He glanced up at Sara and watched her gaze wander around the garage. He noticed as it stopped where he placed a pile of rocks. She turned back to him, her eyes lit with realization. "The boulder. The way this works is if he lured her to the place she was killed, had her lay down, and then dropped the boulder on her, stoning her afterwards."

"So she waited on the ground, eyes closed, while he picked up the rock and dropped it on her? She had to have had a good reason for laying on the ground with her eyes closed. Sexual relationship?"

"Possibly. Grissom and Greg's victim was a prostitute. Killer could have paid her to lie there, told her to close her eyes and wait."

"Makes sense. We'll need an id on her to confirm that theory though. Here," he began rolling a large rock over to Sara. "This is the approximate size and weight of the boulder I took out of the desert. Pick it up and drop it on our dummy."

"Why me?"

"Because I've already hauled the boulder around. I know I can lift it. I want to see if someone your size and weight can. Maybe we can narrow the build down on our killer."

"Alright."

Warrick watched as Sara bent to pick up the boulder. She lifted it to her chest then heaved it down on the stomach of the victim, letting out a grunt as she did. Afterwards, she stood straight up and faced him, rubbing her forearms.

"What is it?"

"I scraped my arms tossing that thing."

"Right, if you did it, the killer might have as well. At least we know you can toss it."

"Making a lot of noise, doing so. Even if our victim was lured to the desert, she would have opened her eyes hearing any grunts or groans from picking it up. It had to be somebody stronger than I."

"I think I made a little noise picking it up too. If the killer had the rock in his vehicle, he wouldn't have had to bend down to pick it up, making it easier to keep quiet."

Sara nodded. Warrick stood next to her, glancing at her, before joining her in staring at the body. Footsteps sounded behind them, and Warrick turned to find his supervisor. "Hey, Griss."

"How's it coming?"

He let out a loud sigh, not saying anything, but knowing that Grissom could read his thoughts. Grissom's gaze was on both him and Sara, studying them. Warrick looked at Sara, noticing the fatigue settle in, for the first time, knowing he must look the same.

"You guys could use a break. You've been on for hours, and Sara, I don't even want to think about when the last time you slept was."

"I took a nap on the plane."

"A forty minute nap, yesterday afternoon? And before that?"

"Grissom, don't even think about asking me to go home. We don't have time for sleep. If we don't get this guy now, there's going to be another dead body tomorrow."

"Sara, I know we have to work around the clock here, but we're no good if we don't rest, even if it's just a short one."

"Grissom…"

"Sara…"

Warrick looked between the two, waiting for a battle to start raging. He was surprised when Sara merely sighed, and quickly decided that she was so tired that even she was able to admit she needed a break. However, Sara was still Sara, and Warrick sensed that while she was slowly conceding defeat, she wasn't quite ready to let it go. He was right. "Look, I want to hit the UNLV's library. I'll take a break afterwards, I promise."

Warrick looked between the two. They were staring at each other. Sara was pleading with Grissom with her eyes. Finally Grissom looked away. "Warrick?"

He held up his hands. "I'm just waiting on some results. As soon as I get those Grissom, I'm on my way out." His pager beeped signaling him to DNA. He glanced at the screen only for the pager to go off in his hand. Both Wendy and Mandy had something for him. "That's them now. Later Griss, later, Sar."

He left them in the garage and made his way to the print lab. Almost overwhelmed with fatigue, his only thoughts were of climbing into bed with his wife and taking a brief, but much needed nap.


	12. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

_Wednesday, September 6__th__, 2006  
__7:58 AM_

There was a brisk air chilling her slightly as she leaned against the wall, waiting for the doors of UNLV's main library to open. She glanced down at her watch. Two minutes, she had two minutes to wait, two minutes to stand there, propped against the building in the cool morning air, trying to stay awake.

Stifling a yawn, she glanced around at the eager students standing by the entrance. A couple days into the school year, and already the new students were lined up outside the building. She wanted to laugh aloud; that was her, years ago. Instead, she counted, seven of them, seven young adults, almost children really, five girls, two boys, waiting for the library to open up the second day of school. She would hate to see the bookstore.

Closing her eyes for a brief moment, blocking out the rising sun, she allowed herself to rest. She was more tired than she let on, far more tired. Grissom had guessed she'd taken a forty minute nap, but the reality was that the nap had only lasted half that amount of time. With only a few hours of sleep the night before, she was approaching empty. A couple more hours though, a little bit of research, maybe a few questions for a professor, and then she'd be able to get some sleep, hopefully curled up to the man she'd been missing for days, promising him earlier that she'd take a break when he did.

She heard, rather than saw, the doors to the library open. Her lids flickered open to watch a young man sprint to the doors, while the other students milling about slowly followed. She walked inside and headed straight for an elevator, already knowing which floor held the books of interest. The elevator rose up four levels, taking her to the fifth floor. The doors opened and she walked out, looking at the rows and rows of books, searching until she found the section she was looking for. Scanning the titles, she selected a few, pulled the books from the shelf, made her way to small cubicle and began reading.

The books were…interesting. However, while she'd selected some books that were more general in nature, and some that were more specific, the books that were more general, were almost too general, focusing on the larger arguments of society, rites, rituals and religion, while the books covering a narrower scope held arguments that were of little or no use to their cases. Sighing, she put the last book down, leaving them for a librarian to reshelf, and stretched her back. Checking her watch, she was surprised to find that the hours had flown by. It was past eleven. She knew she should leave, call Grissom and tell him she'd meet him at his townhouse, but the morning had been so unproductive, so she decided she'd make one quick trip to the Sociology or Anthropology department, and see if any professors could offer her some insight.

Sara chose to walk down the steps, rather than take the elevator, hoping the walk would waken her a little. When she reached the main floor, she searched out the information desk, making a quick enquiry about where to find the two departments. The lady in reception gave out the desired information, and Sara was thankful to find that the two departments shared the same building.

Outside the library, the sun was shining brightly. The campus was now alive, and filled with activity you'd only find during the opening days of classes. Sophomores, juniors and seniors were playing frisbee or football on the grass, freshman were carrying piles of books, and stopping passerby's to ask directions to a building. There was a band playing, belting out the latest in rock/alternative music. She was now awake, the life of the campus seeping into her. Walking quickly, she traversed through the crowds of people and found the building in question.

Once inside, Sara searched a directory and found which floors housed the desired departments. Jogging up the stairs to the third floor, Sara wandered the halls, checking each door, finding all the offices closed. Walking up one more flight of stairs, Sara continued her search until she found an office with a light on inside. She stopped and looked at the plate by the door, _Dr. Anton Mian, PhD, Professor of Anthropology_. She scanned a typed sheet by the door, relieved to see that he held office hours during the current block of time and she wouldn't be interrupting anything unless there was an overly eager student already questioning the professor. Raising her fist, Sara knocked on the door.

The man who answered the door was attractive. He was in his late thirties, possibly early forties, tall, rising more than a few inches above her, had a dark tan, black hair, and deep green eyes that reminded her of Warrick. He smiled at her, a curious and welcoming smile. It took her a moment, but she returned the smile. "Professor Mian?"

"Yes."

She noted a slight accent, though she couldn't place it. His name was Italian, but that wasn't it. Shaking her head, she ignored it, hoping she'd detect its origin later. "I'd like to ask you a few questions, if you have the time."

He smiled at her again, cocking his head to the side. "Are you one of my students?"

Sara blushed and shook her head. "No, sorry, I'm Sara Sidle. I'm a criminalist with the Las Vegas Crime Lab."

"Crime Lab? Is there a problem?"

_Yes, _she thought, her mind running through the murders of the past few days. However, she knew that wasn't what the professor meant, and that he misunderstood the reason for her visit. "No, no. I was just hoping you'd be able to shed some light on a few topics for me."

"Absolutely." He grinned, stepping aside to let her pass before him, into the office. She sat down, turning to watch him close the door behind him. Her eyes followed his path from the door to behind his desk. When he sat down, he fixed his gaze on her, his green eyes dancing.

Her eyes met his, and she felt a little nervous under his stare. The professor was a flirt. Shaking her head, she looked at him with mirth and raised an eyebrow. "A student?"

Anton Mian's smile never dimmed. "You never know. Many people are going back to school and getting an education these days." He winked at her and she blushed again.

"Touché."

He leaned back in his chair, folding his hands together on the desk in front of him. "So, how can I help the Las Vegas Crime Lab?" Before Sara could answer, a knock sounded at the door. Anton Mian frowned. "Excuse me."

"Sure." She watched as Mian stood and crossed the room, opening the door to two giggling, but beautiful young co-eds.

"Professor Mian, do you have some time to answer a few questions?"

"I'm a little busy now. You can try to catch up with me later, or check the offices of my TA's. I'm sure any one of them will be able to answer any question you may have at this point."

The women looked disappointed, but Sara noticed that Anton Mian never gave them a second glance. He simply rounded the desk, resumed his former position, leaning back in the chair and folding his hands together, and smiled. "Sorry about that. I always get a few keen students raiding my first office hours."

She laughed, thinking about where the interests of the two young women really lie. No doubt those keen young students were always female. She shook her head, grinning, "That's alright."

Anton Mian leaned forward, gazing at her with interest. "Now, you were about to tell me how I could be of service."

Sara paused, thinking about where to start and how much to reveal. The news had been all over Nick and Catherine's Sati case, had glazed over the murder of the prostitute in the hotel, but hadn't yet had time to expose or sensationalize the stoning of the young woman, though her death did receive some coverage on the morning news. Likely the cases were known, so it was a matter of the details. Staring at the professor like a woman with out answers, she opened and closed her mouth while watching the professor look on in amusement. After letting out a soft laugh, she began. "What do you know of the Bohra Muslims of India?"

"The Bohra?" Anton Mian raised an eyebrow. She watched the curiosity dance through his eyes. "Well, seeing as I specialize in the primitive, my knowledge is short, though I may be able to tell you a few things. However, while I would love to be of help, and spend every moment I can, talking with you, speaking with a Professor of Sociology might be of more help."

"I looked. All of their offices are closed. No office hours posted, yet. I could come back, but…"

"Sociology professors." Anton Mian shook his head and Sara had to chuckle. "Their loss is my gain. Never mind, I'll offer all the help I can. I think it may be easier if you asked me specific questions on the subject though."

"Alright. The Bohra practice female circumcision, is that correct?"

"Yes, when they converted to Islam, they began the practice."

Sara nodded. "I know the practiced was picked up. I am curious about the rituals they practiced as Hindus, before they converted."

"Such as?"

"Did they ever use stoning as a method of execution?"

"Likely. Stoning had been used by almost every civilization, from Asia to Africa, to parts of Europe. Again, my knowledge of the specifics of the Bohra population is lacking, but I'd be more surprised if they hadn't than if they had."

She nodded again. "What about Sati?"

"Sati?"

"Yes, in your knowledge, have the Bohra ever practiced Sati?"

There was an audible sigh. Then, Anton Mian placed his palms together, spreading out his finders, and raised his hands to the front of his mouth, pursing his lips on his joined index fingers. "Before Islam, possibly. Traditionally Sati's were more prevalent in western India, and the Bohra are found in Gujarat, so at one time, the Bohra may have practiced Sati. However, the practice is prehistorical, and currently, there aren't any records demonstrating that they had. It is extremely unlikely that they practiced it after the conversion to Islam. When the Muslims invaded, the practice occurred more frequently, as the native population worried about their women marrying or coupling with the invaders. However, after the Muslims conquered the area, the number of instances decreased. The Muslim government was against it, seeing it as barbaric, and they created measures to end the practice altogether."

Sara sighed. "So there is almost no possibility that the Bohra have a syncretistic religion, and combine Sati and female circumcision?"

"Oh, the Bohra are definitely syncretistic, but as practicing Muslims, Sati is not a ritual that would carry over." She nodded and watched Anton Mian lean forward. He rested his forearms on the desk. "May I ask what this is about?"

She paused, looking down quickly and studying her lap. She looked up again, and let out her breath, slowly. "We have three murders that I believe are connected. They all involve some sort of old practice, and the only connection I could find between the practices is India."

"Sati, stoning, and female circumcision?"

"Yes." She narrowed her eyes.

"You've asked me about all of them in relation to the Bohra."

"Right." She shook her head, feeling a little sheepish.

"Ms. Sidle…."

"Sara."

"Sara…" Her frame stiffened at the way he said her name and the way his eyes were on her as spoke. "Sara, I may be able to offer a little more insight if you tell me a little more about your cases."

Sara took a deep breath. "Currently, my colleagues and I are investigating the murder of a prostitute, who died from shock during or immediately after undergoing an excision, the sati of another woman whose husband had just died, and the stoning of young woman. All have occurred in the past week at evenly spaced intervals. The uncommon nature of these murders has led us to search for certain connections."

The professor's eyes were fixed on her while she spoke. As soon as her monologue ended though, Anton Mian spun in his chair, looking out the window, before spinning back to face her, with a thoughtful expression crossing his features. "Can I offer you an Anthropological perspective?"

"Any insight you could offer would be appreciated."

"I think you're right to make these connections. However, you seem to be looking for a location to connect the practices, when I think you should be looking at the practices themselves, and the reasons the practices may occur. Tell me, when you first looked at the three practices, which practice seemed to you, the unlikeliest fit?"

"Sati."

"Why is that?"

"The practice of Sati, while it still occurs, it is rare and illegal. And, the practice, though occurring in other cultures during brief moments in history, was pretty much confined to India, while stoning and female circumcision still occur today and are both prevalent in Sub-Saharan Africa. Plus," she began, a little reluctantly and apologetically, "I'm an American, living in a post-9/11 world, and as open minded as I strive to be and generally am, my Xenophobia extends more to that area than it does to India. Fight the message, but it still seeps in."

"You're a scholar for admitting it, and admitting it demonstrates how open-minded you really are. You understand how powerful growing up in a certain culture can be." Anton Mian leaned back in his chair, offering her another smile, less flirtatious, but more intense than any of his previous ones. "Now, while I follow your reasoning for isolating Sati, I myself, would be far more inclined to isolate the stoning." Sara cocked her head to the side, raising an eyebrow. She waited for him to continue. "Stoning is a practice and method of execution, however, both Sati and Female Circumcision, are far more ritualistic. As an anthropologist, I am far more curious about rites and rituals. I would question the reasons behind the stoning."

"There is never a good reason for murder."

"Ah, Ms. Sidle, Sara, you are passionate about your work, I see. I'm not suggesting for an excuse for the murder. I'm curious as to why the killer stoned your victim. You said that it was a prostitute that underwent cutting, and a widow who was burnt over her husband's corpse. The reasoning behind those two executions is obvious. Tell me about the woman who was stoned to death. Maybe she did something offensive or was unclean in someway, that led the killer to believe her execution was warranted."

"She's a Jane Doe, Caucasian. We don't know anything about our victim other than that she's a young woman."

"Then, I believe, until you find the motive, you won't find the connection. Discard the stoning and focus on the other two for now."

"You mentioned the word unclean." Anton Mian nodded. "Emile Durkheim was interested in the sacred and the profane, correct?"

"Ah, now this conversation is getting somewhere. You are correct, though Durkheim discarded the notions of the 'unclean,' in the primitive sense. As those notions became dispelled over time, they didn't interest him. He was more interested in contagion. May I ask why he suddenly entered our conversation?" Sara smiled, not elaborating, thinking about the hygienic nature of Grissom and Greg's crime scene, and how the killer registered under the name of the famous sociologist. She had her reasons for mentioning him, however, letting the professor know the obvious ones would be giving out too many details. Luckily, the professor didn't press. Instead, he returned her smile. "Never mind. I'm rather intrigued that you did. Any conversation of this nature should involve Durkheim. Before we get to the sacred and the profane, however, we should begin with what Durkheim stated religion involved, other than the sacred and the profane."

"Common sets of values. Beliefs and rites."

"Exactly. And, both Sati and Female Circumcision are rites. They have been used within their religions to guard against impurity. If you want to understand your cases, you have to understand the rites, and the reasons behind them. They are based on the very old, yet very powerful idea of contagion, and are very important to the believers within their society. To understand those ideas and those rights, you have to accept the reasoning for them."

"Isn't that cultural relativism? Excusing the behavior because that society has always operated in that manner?"

"Ah, again, very good. I'm impressed. However, I've said nothing to excuse the behavior, only tried to help you understand it."

"Alright. You're saying that the practices within the religions have evolved from primitive times, as they are based on contagion and impurity."

"That is how civilizations have evolved, from the primitive to the religious, and now to the scientific. Initially, societies needed religion. It helped to organize and order their society."

"But, primitive ideas of cleanliness are very different than our ideas, ours being based on pathology, while primitive ideas are symbolic and based on the sacred."

"I'm impressed; you know your stuff."

"I've done some research."

"It shows. Yes, if you equate modern hygiene with primitive hygiene, the ideas are very different. However, take the word, hygiene out of the equation, as the modern use for the word seems to be troublesome, and use a different word, such as impurity, or the profane, and you'll have to agree that these words, these beliefs are still around in modern society and modern religion. Fears about pollution and impurity and contagion are very old fears. And, as Durkheim would have argued, those beliefs that passed on are the debris from past religions or past societies. Societies, religions within societies evolved, and as they did, so did the beliefs and rites. What has interested sociologists and anthropologists, are what survives throughout the evolution. It is what interested people like Robertson Smith."

"A different form of Social Darwinism."

"Evolution of beliefs and fears – the strongest survive. It takes a lot to dispel them, and the cultures they exist in have to be willing to dispel them. Old fears about impurity and contagion did not disappear, even in this culture. Society as a whole hasn't yet evolved that far. One can align primitive rites and rituals with the modern practice of prayer and even the partaking of the sacraments. Baptism washes away the sins. It purifies the child."

"But hasn't the Catholic Church argued against old fears of contagion? St. Catherine of Sienna drank a bowl of pus because hygiene wasn't compatible with charity."

"You came across that in your research, or were you raised Roman Catholic?"

"Neither. I used to enjoy reading about the lives of the Saints."

"Ah, well, I believe the notion of hygiene in that parable is more along the modern notion. And you are right, the Church has tried to dispel old fears of contagion, St. Thomas Aquinas was the forerunner in that movement, arguing that it wasn't the blood that was impure, but the shedding of blood. Committing the act was the sin, not the blood itself. Before St. Thomas Aquinas, though, fears of contagion were still ever present. And, they are still present, just in a different form. It is the notion of the impurity of blood that has been dispelled, though not completely. The profane still exists. Taboo still exists. People are still uncomfortable around bugs. They crawl; some are in between states, solid, yet liquid. We still fear the grotesque, the abnormal…"

Sara wanted to laugh, thinking of one man who'd evolved enough to see past the repugnant qualities of insects. The professor carried on, unaware of the irony and the humor his words sparked in her. "It's even Biblical. Look at the Old Testament, and Leviticus. Leviticus is a whole book dedicated to what is taboo and contagion. And, today, many people still follow that book. People of the Jewish faith still follow that doctrine. People of the Islamic faith follow that doctrine. I myself don't eat pork. I see it as vile, grotesque. They have a revolting diet, and the fat of the pig seems an almost jelly-like matter. See, the ideas of contagion are still alive in me. What about you?"

"I'm a vegetarian." _And it was a pig that did it, _she thought, shaking her head with a small smile.

"Ah, interesting."

She felt his stare on her again, his eyes bright and a small smile playing at his lips. She coughed, "Before, you were speaking about contagion…"

"Yes." Anton Mian's eyes were still on her, but, to her relief, the intensity had dimmed, and he looked more pensive. "What has occurred over the course of Christianity is the purification of impure things. Blood for instance. Communion is a prime example. Though symbolic, believers drink the blood and eat the body of Christ to cleanse themselves."

"Because Christ's blood is pure, it purifies them."

She watched as Anton Mian nodded. "Exactly. Almost all religious rites are about purification."

"So, bringing it back to the cases at hand, would you connect the murders, the Sati and the Female Genital Cutting, with the idea of purification?"

"Would you?"

She smiled. She could tell he was probably an excellent and well liked professor. He was very intelligent and had a way of challenging her. "That is why I came here, to gain your insight on the matter."

He smiled, laughing softly. "I can't assume to read the motivations behind this, but however, as these practices involve the pure and impure, I'd say it was a good place to begin."

"Out of curiosity, how would you align Sati with notions of purity and impurity?"

"Taking out the forced Sati of widows during the Muslim invasion, to avoid Muslim's from coupling with Hindus, there are other notions of purity behind the practice. The idea of women as a part of their husband is almost a universal notion, and I'm not talking about the wives belonging to their husbands. It is seen in Christianity as well. Eve came from Adam's rib. She is a part of him. If you take marriage as a spiritual union, you see the union of two souls. The wife becomes a part of the husband, spiritually as well as legally. When the husband dies, the wife loses her other half. She is still living; yet, she's dead in a sense. Her state without her husband is ambiguous, and anything ambiguous is profane and cannot be touched. And, culturally, India has a long history of separating people based on purity. The notion of the caste is a notion of purity, or a higher order. Contact between castes causes impurity. A woman widowed becomes an untouchable. Contact with a widow could lead to impurity. That's where Sati enters in. Burning was thought to purge the soul of evil spirits. The burning of the widow over her husband was believed to be a collective purge of both their sins, so not only does it remove an untouchable from society, it purges the sins and dark spirits of the souls of both man and wife. Wife becomes a sacrifice."

"But it's really just about upholding order. I mean, that's why it was created. The assignment of caste often came from occupation."

"Or did the assignment of occupation come from caste? It works both ways. Upholding order has been the basis behind the practices of every society. However, the ideas of purity within the practices have become ingrained. You can't ignore them. Sati was one of those ingrained ideas. When the practice was voluntary, and the widows weren't burned, they were still isolated. You see it as upholding the order, but people practicing the religion, people fearing those ideas of contagion, would see it differently. The practice, to them, is about purification."

"Alright, for argument's sake, say the killer was committing murders for ritual purification…"

"Wait." Anton Mian interrupted her, furrowing his brow. "About a week ago, two new born twins, African American boys, were mysteriously killed in the hospital. It was all over the news. Are you familiar with it?"

Sara's face shot to Mian's. The case he brought up was Warrick and Catherine's still open case, the case Warrick had been killing himself over. "Yes, my colleagues are working that case. It is stalled at the moment."

"If you were to connect your cases based on ritual purification, then I would argue that the deaths of African American twins would be connected."

"Care to explain?"

"In many West African tribes, if twins are born, they are killed at birth. Two babies can't come from the same womb at the same time. It is an anomaly, and primitive tribes like to avoid anomalies. Killing the twins would eliminate the anomaly."

Sara did some calculations in her head. Catherine and Warrick took the case her last night before taking off to the conference, two days before Grissom and Greg's mutilated prostitute. It fit in the timeline. It didn't fit in with the sex of their victims. "The twins were boys. The other victims were all women."

"Women, after puberty, are thought to be unclean. They menstruate and any bodily emissions are seen as sources of impurity. It is why many cultures marry their women before they hit puberty, because they are still pure in that state. It follows that many purification rituals are performed on women. However, many are also performed on boys and on men. Circumcision, for example, is a lot more common on males. With regards to your investigation, I believe that any perceived instances of impurity could be a target, explaining the death of the newborn twins. You're seeing more females as targets because of the perception of women as sources of impurity."

"Alright, you mentioned circumcision, and we have the case of the female genital cutting. How do they relate to purification?"

"It is a rite of initiation. If you follow Durkheim, when a boy is circumcised, he is leaving the profane world behind him and moving into a sacred world, or moving into a religious life. His profane self dies, and he becomes a new man. With regards to your prostitute, it may have worked along the same line, removing her from the profane world, where she performed impure acts and sold her body for money, and brought her into a more sacred world. Or, he was punishing her or sacrificing her, seeing her as symbolically encompassing the notion of impurity, which is why I believe your stoning may have been a punishment or execution doled out for an impure act."

"So if it's a punishment, then?"

"Then I believe that the person behind these killings is hands off." Sara cocked her head, raising an eyebrow. Mian went on to explain, "These rituals deal with cleanliness and purity. Being too actively involved could pollute him. He has to protect himself from defilement. Blood is unclean. Touching the prostitute, and cutting her could make him unclean…"

"That would only be true if it was part of his own belief system, but he's invoking multiple belief systems."

"You're right; my mistake. Your killer could be actively involved, though, if he believes in pollution, he may still seek help, keeping his hands clean. I would also like to point out that you seemed to leap to the punishment aspect, when it really could be about ritual cleansing. Part of that Xenophobia you mentioned earlier?" He grinned as he spoke the question, his eyes again dancing.

"Perhaps," she admitted.

"You aren't a religious person, are you? No, you can't be. Yet I doubt you're atheist. Agnostic, perhaps. While you strive to understand the rituals, you dismiss them." Sara felt uncomfortable under Anton Mian's stare. It felt as though he were looking right into her. She turned away, but the words continued. "But, you are spiritual, aren't you? You believe in the soul…"

Sara deflected his insight into her. "I believe in a person's right to live."

Anton Mian held his hands up in surrender. "Forgive me, I didn't mean to pry, but I'm very interested in you. You, how should I put it, intrigue me. You're intelligent, well versed. You've evolved past the primitive notions that still hold so many hostage, yet there is something about you that is very spiritual." Sara frowned. She watched the professor shake his head. "Sorry, I'll get back to the topic at hand. Your case could be about ritual cleansing, and if it is about ritual cleansing, I'm more apt to believe he'd be enacting the murders himself. He wouldn't let someone else be involved in a task so delicate, and he'd be more likely to believe he could perform the rituals himself. Somebody who doesn't understand pollution in the sense he does, wouldn't understand the ritual aspects behind the killings and could mess them up, causing the deaths to lose their meaning."

"Then he'd have to see himself as a priest-like figure, would he not? He'd have to be if he thought he could perform the rituals."

He grinned. "Only if it was part of his own belief system."

Sara shook her head. "Ah, touché."

"Considering the killings happened in this society, I'd say your killer is operating more as a magician."

"A magician?"

"Not a magician in the Vegas sense of the word. Magicians were around in the time of primitive religions, when magic wasn't magic. The rituals they performed could be equated with the modern form of prayer. Miracles, as we understand them, didn't exist, because the notion of miraculous didn't exist, the supernatural didn't exist. Without science and a natural order of things, man did not know what was possible and what was beyond the realm of possibility, so what people now constitute as miracles, weren't miracles to them. Spectacular to be sure, but not impossible."

"Sounds like a Vegas magician to me."

The professor laughed. "Priests, men operating within the community, were the ones performing the rituals, not magicians. And, the rituals were symbolic, a form of prayer if you will, and weren't used to produce spectacles or results. I equate our notion of miracles, with their notion of spectacles, but I did not mean to suggest that magicians, or priests, were responsible. They were merely events that occurred that were…well, out of the ordinary. Magicians could be blamed for such events, especially if the event was seen as negative. For that reason, magicians, unlike the spiritual leaders who operated for the betterment of the community, were seen as taboo."

"But our 'magician,' as you call him, is responsible."

"Unlike the primitive magician, your killer is actively creating the spectacle, but we know he's not a primitive man. He's using Vegas as his operating theater, so he's active in a society that has moved far beyond the primitive. Yet, it's not about magic, or spectacle, or entertainment. It's more of a response to society." The professor paused, flatting his hands together and bringing them to his mouth. Sara noted the pensive look of his face as he tried to put thoughts to words. "I don't think I've been very clear about the notion of the magician in the sense I meant to use. We keep going off all over the place and covering too many bases at once, and that's leading to misunderstandings. The notion I'm trying to convey is in between the two notions that have come out. It's post-religious, meaning he's invoking religions and notions from religions from other cultures in a way to formulate his response to this culture. He's a person operating outside the community. Are you following me?"

She nodded. "Keep explaining. What exactly, do you mean by 'magician'?"

"Alright." Anton Mian smiled, and Sara felt they were finally over the barrier the misconceptions had caused. Likely, he was used to presenting ideas in a linear, organized manner, defining concepts in the terms and conditions those concepts arose in. Inwardly, she theorized that her tendency to interrupt and question and bring in other ideas probably upset his ability to formulate those ideas into words in a coherent manner. Luckily, he recovered. "A magician is somebody who operates outside the cult of the Church. Often, he takes beliefs and rites from other religions and invokes them. Durkheim believed the magician took pleasure in profaning things holy to the culture the magician lived in. This line of thought is the reasoning behind my suggestion that your killer could be operating as a magician. Instead of beliefs, the killings may be about values. The killings are symbolic. Your killer could be taking pleasure in profaning the values of the society you live in, invoking practices from other societies that perhaps he values. Instead of operating outside of the cult of the Church, he's operating outside of the cult of Society."

Sara let the idea sink in for a few moments. The professor had offered a lot of insight. Checking her watch, she was surprised to find that it was past noon, and his office hours were over for the day. She stood, extending her hand. "Dr. Mian, thank you. The discussion was enlightening."

"Sara, please, call me Anton." He shook her hand, and held onto it. "We could always continue this discussion over lunch."

"Thank you, but I've taken up too much of your time already."

"Really, it's my pleasure. I've enjoyed your company and our discussion. Please accompany me to lunch."

"I'm very sorry, but I really must go."

"Another time, perhaps?"

Sara just smiled and pulled her hand from his. "Goodbye, Dr. Mian."

"I see. Point taken. No ring, so I see you aren't married, though I bet you find that practice primitive. Not interested?" He looked at her with a question in his eyes, studying her, but she remained silent. "Spoken for?" Sara gave him with a smile that betrayed nothing and turned to leave. A hand on her arm stopped her. She looked down at the hand, feeling the caress of fingertips on her forearm. "Well, at least let me give you my information, so that if you have any other questions, you can contact me. Or, in case you change your mind…" he trailed off, scribbling on a card and handing it to her.

"Thank you." She gave him one last smile before exiting the office. Once outside the door, she pulled out her cell phone, hitting four on her speed dial. Warrick's voicemail came on immediately. "Hey Warrick, I just spoke to a professor here at the University. He believes the murders could be about ritual cleansing, and we're looking for a magician of sorts. He also believes that your case involving the murder of those newborn twins in the hospital may be involved. Look up twins, tribes and West Africa and it might tell you more. I'll catch up with you and let you know more later."

After ending the call, Sara held her open phone for a few moments, closing her eyes and leaning against the hall wall. She was tired, feeling a little like Rob Petrie at hour twenty-four, in that _Dick Van Dyke Show_ episode Grissom had her watch, where Rob Petrie had to stay awake for one hundred hours. She sighed and pushed herself up, pocketing the card Dr. Mian had handed her. Holding her open phone in her hand, she held the number two down. After a few rings, the call was picked up. When it was, she smiled softly. "Hey Griss, I just finished up at the university, and I'm really tired. I'll have to take a rain check on meeting up. I'm just going to go straight home and crawl into bed."

"_You are going home, though?"_

"Yes, I promise I'm going back to my apartment to rest."

"_I could come over."_

"No, don't worry about it. I'm just going to pass out. Go home. I'll see you later."

"Alright. Bye."

"Bye."

She closed her phone and headed down the stairs, before making her way out of the building.

**

* * *

**

**A/N: **I didn't mean to have this chapter come from one POV only, but adding another seemed excessive. I do have to put in a little disclaimer and acknowledge that many of the facts and ideas in this chapter are not mine, and come from selections of Emile Durkheim's, _The Elementary Forms of Religious Life_, (1912) and Mary Douglas's, _Purity and Danger, _(1966). I am not profound enough to ever have thought of such ideas, I've only borrowed them for the sake of my story.


	13. Chapter 12

**A/N: **To anyone who is still reading this, I'm really sorry for the delay and I hope it's worth the wait. I won't make any excuses. It's completely on me. I think I'm back on track now, though. Thanks for sticking with it.

Chapter 12

_Wednesday, September 6__th__, 2006  
__12:23 PM_

Warrick woke, patting the other side of the bed, finding it empty. He wasn't surprised. While he had managed to get Tina to lay down with him when he went to sleep, he'd known she wouldn't remain there for long. She never did. Reaching around, he felt for his cell, finding it with his fingertips on the table next to the bed. He pulled it into his hand and brought it to his face, wanting to check the time. When he opened it, he frowned, finding the cell was turned off. Sitting up and rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he slid out of the bed and made his way into the kitchen, where Tina was making herself some lunch. "Baby, did you turn my cell off?"

"Yes, you didn't need it interrupting you. How many hours did you work before coming home?"

"An important call could have come in. Don't you understand that?"

Tina leveled him with her gaze. "Like an emergency at the hospital? I know about important calls, Warrick. You can't work twenty hours a day. They can get somebody else."

Warrick shook his head, walking into the bathroom, turning on his cell phone as he moved. Seeing that he had a voice message, he opened the voicemail and held the phone to his ear. "Dammit, Tina," he cursed under his breath upon hearing the message. He finished up quickly in the bathroom, and moved back into the bedroom.

He went straight through the room, directly to the closet and began to rummage through cloths in his, quickly grabbing what he could find. Pulling on a shirt as he walked, Warrick moved from the closet to the bed and sat down. Tina stormed in, just as he was putting on his pants. "Where are you going?"

"To work."

"Dammit Warrick, you've only been home for a few hours."

"This is important, Tina."

He finished pulling on his pants, following them with socks, pulling a sock over each foot. Standing, he walked out into the kitchen, pulled an apple from the fridge and bit into it. He moved to the door and began pulling on his shoes. Tina had been following him the entire time. She glared at him when his hand landed on the doorknob. "You're never home."

"Tina…" He couldn't think of anything to say, so he just shook his head and opened the door.

"Don't walk out of here, Warrick."

"I have to go to work. I'll see you later." He left her staring after him in the doorway.

His cell rang the moment he arrived at the lab. Checking the call display and seeing his wife's name, he sighed and redirected the call immediately. He couldn't deal with the argument that was sure to come. Instead, he decided to turn his cell off completely. If anyone needed him, they could always page him. He just…couldn't deal with Tina at the moment, and he didn't want to waste time screening his calls.

After shutting his phone off and pocketing it, Warrick quickly found his case file and opened it. He scanned the contents, then sat down in front of a computer and began searching, checking and rechecking information. What he found was, that if the murders were about ritual purification, than the case that had been killing him for the better part of a week, could fall into that catagory.

"Son of a bitch." Warrick stood quickly, throwing back the chair as he stood. The thought of two innocent babies being murdered to correct some anomaly from some primitive taboo pissed him right off. He thought they'd moved beyond that . The world was supposed to have moved beyond that. He didn't understand, and the more he searched for meaning, the more questions he had. Why were they seeing primitive practices in Vegas? What were the ramifications of them? How could two newborns, so innocent, ever be seen as something impure? It wasn't twins that polluted those tribes. Before, he had lingering ideas where he feared the murder of the young twins had either been committed by the family, or racially motivated, and now, he wasn't sure whether it would have been better if they had been. Racial discrimination and intolerance was something he understood. It was learned behavior. While it still sickened him and infuriated him, it was still something he could, albeit troublingly, wrap his head around, just as he could have if a member of the family had committed the crime. Post-partum depression was powerful and sad, yet it was well documented, and something he'd had to deal with before. This idea of cleansing, or sacrifice, the killing of newborns to eliminate what was unnatural to a tribe, it was all new to him. And, while it was impossible to understand, he knew he couldn't catalogue it as any worse. No motive for killing a child – two children, was ever any better than another. The chilling part of it all was that if it was about ritual purification, the murders of the two newborns had been very calculated.

The case had been getting to him from the beginning. It had left both he and Catherine feeling more than a little unsettled because of the victims involved. Babies' deaths were hard to deal with for anyone, but Catherine especially, he theorized, because of her status as a mother. It had been extremely difficult for him too, initially because not only did it involve infants, but because of all the babies in maternity, Caucasians, Hispanics, Asians, only two were killed, and they were black. At first, he hadn't known what that had meant, and that was when the first fears of a racially motivated crime entered his thoughts.

He'd also felt so responsible. Grissom had trusted him with a very delicate case and he had wanted to live up to that trust. Only, he felt as though he had failed. As leads disappeared, and questions only led to more questions, he felt as though he was losing more and more control, failing Grissom, the victims, the family of the victims, more and more each day. And now, he was getting a second chance, but it was just as unsettling. The motive was as disgusting, and more unbelievable than the motives he'd tried out earlier when finding himself questioning the whys.

Killing twins because they weren't ordinary.

Ending lives because they were extraordinary.

It was appalling…sickening…nauseating… His mind was already in a fragile state from working the two cases to begin with. Then came Sara's bombshell. And, on top of that, there was the fight with Tina, the same fight they'd been having almost daily for months now.

There was so much to deal with and he found himself being ripped apart, pulled in multiple directions, giving all of himself, giving parts of himself, to everyone around him, until there was nothing left of him. And, the only thing that could offer him any salvation, was the truth.

He needed help. He couldn't do this alone. He needed to know what other people thought. He knew what Sara thought, but beyond that, he was in the dark. He needed to know what Catherine thought. She was investigating the deaths of the newborns with him to begin with. He looked at the time and hesitated before pulling out his phone. He didn't want to interrupt whatever rest she might be getting, but he couldn't wait. It was too important, and they were working against the clock. Without another thought, he opened the phone, turned it back on. Six missed calls from Tina. He sighed, knowing he should return the calls and have the argument out. He dialed Catherine's number instead.

_2:08 PM_

Warrick was waiting outside her office door when she came in. Stopping next to him, she opened the door and faced him. The curve of his back was leaning against the wall. He had one leg straight, his foot bent so that the outside rested on the floor a couple feet from the wall. His other leg was bent, supporting the rest of his weight. His head hung forward, his shoulders stooped and his arms dangled by his sides. His face was hidden by his mop of hair. She approached slowly and watched as he lifted his head, his face full of anxiety. "Hey Rick, what's going on?"

Warrick straightened up, running a hand through his hair. He gestured to her office. She noted how he waited for her to go through the door before moving inside behind her. She glanced back at him before moving around her desk and taking a seat. She faced him, holding her hands together on the desk in front of her. Warrick sat across from her. "Sorry to call you in. I didn't take you away from Lindsay, did I?"

Catherine shook her head. "No, she's at school. What is it?"

"It's about the Madison case."

"The twins?" Her eyebrows raised, and her eyes lit up as she thought about how they might finally be able to move forward. "What is it? Do you have a lead?"

"Yes. Maybe. I'm not sure."

Catherine could see how much this was troubling him. She watched as he struggled for words and she could see the debate raging in his mind over what to tell her or how. She tried to be patient but his uncharacteristic loss of composure was making her a little frantic. Was he trying to spare her something? She waited until she couldn't take it anymore. "Christ Warrick, spit it out." She winced as soon as the words came out and she saw Warrick's eyes widen. "Sorry, Rick, I didn't mean it."

Warrick, for his part, just shook his head. "Don't worry about it, Cath."

"What is it that has you so bothered?" She thought about the case and quickly amended, "I mean, now."

"Sara thinks that the case might be connected to the other three cases we've been working on."

She almost snorted in disbelief, but quickly checked herself. If Warrick was this bothered by it, there must be something to go on. "How? I mean, the other connections seemed weak, but connecting the murders of two newborn boys with the murders of three women? Did Sara happen to tell you how she stumbled upon this connection?"

"She spoke to some professor at UNLV and I think he led her to believe they were connected."

"Sara speaks to some professor, who, without any real knowledge of the cases, decides that the very high profile murders of the two infants in the hospital are connected to the others, and she runs with it? Who is this professor anyways?"

"All I know is that he's a professor at UNLV...." Warrick paused a moment before continuing, "I checked it out, Catherine, and the idea has foundation…" Catherine sat and listened intently as Warrick finished his monologue, outlining what he'd found out about the practices of some West African tribes. As he linked it to what he'd gotten from Sara about notions of purity and impurity, Catherine found herself, if not yet convinced or accepting of, at least a little more willing to hear out the theory. Warrick went on to talk about how the Madison infants were smothered only a day after their birth, how fibers were discovered in their throats, and how they hadn't been able to find a clue or a motive for the murders. Catherine sat back and listened as Warrick stated, "and to top it off, all the murders occurred two days apart. The Madison babies were murdered two days before Grissom's and Greg's prostitute was."

"Alright…" she held up her hand, stopping him, "alright, say they're connected, then what? How did the killer know the twins of African descent were about to be born? Did he know the family, or was it merely opportunity? I mean the rest of the murders were all planned out. Apart from the victims being infant males, it doesn't really fit."

"Maybe the Madison infants were the opportunity the killer was looking for. The starting point."

"Warrick, you're sounding like Sara, chasing after a theory without any basis."

"I wouldn't be discussing this with you if there wasn't any basis. You're the one who likes to work from the gut, Catherine."

Warrick's comment was biting. Catherine was shaking. A part of wanted to hear everything out but an even larger part of her was afraid to. She wanted to believe that it was all complete lunacy and there was a part of her who was angry that she had to be the one keeping everybody in check. Normally Grissom was the one who held back and waited for all the evidence to come in. The role reversal left her a little flustered and it pissed her off that Grissom could be so hypocritical to act on instinct when he was always trying to stifle her from doing the same. "Somebody has to be the skeptic here, Warrick. God knows, it's not you or Sara or Grissom. You're all running off on all fours."

"Hang on, Cath; nobody here is running with anything. We don't have anything to run on. All we're doing is comparing evidence, because if these murders are linked, it'll be easier finding the killer from compiled evidence. God knows none of us have near enough to go on from the cases as individuals. And, we're compiling a huge backlog here. Four murders with no evidence to go on? If the murders are connected, isn't it better that we link the minute bits of evidence we do have right away before more people get killed? If not, at least the cases will have had five sets of eyes looking at them. We're not running Catherine. You know Grissom would never let us get ahead of the evidence, and you know I wouldn't either."

She took a deep breath, let out a little laugh and forced herself to relax a little. "Sara might." She smiled and watched Warrick's posture relax. He gave her a grin. "Yeah, sounds like someone else I know, but the rest of us are here to keep each other in check."

"Alright, you're right; you're right."

Warrick smiled at her. "Come on, lets take it to the conference room. We can argue it out there with the evidence in front of us. I can show you what I've got, and you can keep me in line."

"Yeah, okay." She stood and felt her cell vibrate on her him. She checked the screen. "Warrick, it's Nick. I'll be there in a minute."

"Right on."

Watching Warrick leave with a simple wave, she opened her cell. "Nicky, what have you got?"

_2:58 PM_

Upon entering the lab, Nick quickly made his way to the conference room where Catherine had told him she'd meet him. He didn't expect to see Warrick in there as well. He grinned. "Hey Rick, what are you doing in? Tina not at home?" Warrick shot him a look and he knew to drop the teasing immediately. Instead he moved next to them and glanced down at all the files on the table. Warrick and Catherine's Madison case file caught his attention. "What are you looking at? Why is your Madison file out with these others?"

"We're looking at a possible connection."

"You serious?"

Warrick nodded, sliding over the file. "Apparently there is a rite practiced by West African tribes where they kill twins at birth to correct something they see as an anomoly."

"I thought the killer was targeting women."

"Well if we're going by what Grissom and Sara have told us, then the killer may be targeting anything he thinks of as impure. For him, women may epitomize the impure, but he may feel the need to eliminate any other sources of impurity."

Nick noticed the look Catherine shot Warrick after Warrick finished speaking. Clearly she didn't like being called the epitome of impurity. He shifted the conversation away from the discussion of women. "That's a big job. Hell, this is Vegas; the whole city is impure."

"It could be the reason for the tight schedule. It may also be the reason for the choice in location."

"You're assuming he has the means to choose."

"I think he does. He's clearly an educated person. He knows all of these primitive rites. Every detail is planned out."

"You are both talking like you know for sure that there is only one killer."

Nick glanced over at Catherine. "You're checking out the connection. You're not convinced?"

"Not yet. How does he select his victims? The murders are planned in advance, so the selection of victims has to occur in advance. Yet, given the circumstances, the murders of the Madison twins and the murder of Doris Fletcher had to be opportunity. Those murders weren't something anyone could plan well in advance."

He picked up a file and studied it. "What about the others?"

"Grissom and Greg's case could have been planned out in advance, and probably was. We're not sure about mine and Sara's. We don't have an id on our vic yet, so we don't know who she is, or why she was killed. Her picture's on the news, but there haven't been any leads from that. Missing persons and DNA came up empty. Mandy got nothing off the prints."

Nick's head snapped around towards Warrick. "You've already got results from Mandy. She only paged me with results from mine and Catherine's case about an hour ago, which is why I called Catherine and came in." Warrick shrugged and Nick continued. "I don't believe this. I bought her breakfast and everything."

Warrick's head fell back as he let out a laugh. "You bought her breakfast?"

"Yeah, I dropped her off some takeout just this morning."

"Wait, you dropped her off some takeout, you didn't take her out? No wonder she didn't rush through your prints. Here I always thought you were a Southern Gentleman."

"I am."

"Gentlemen know how to treat their ladies, Nick."

"I treat all my ladies well, and Mandy's not my lady. We just kid around."

"Whatever, cowboy. She may just be messing around, but she's still a woman and all women like to be appreciated."

"Yeah, whatever Rick. I brought her breakfast. She knows I appreciate her."

"Apparently." Warrick shook his head and Nick frowned.

"Are you two finished yet? Can you stop comparing how you treat our sex and get back to work?"

Nick looked over at Catherine, a little surprised by her shortness. Normally she'd be amused by the conversation and adding her own two bits. "Yeah, Cath, sure."

"Did Mandy get anything off the prints?"

"A few names came up, but none that stand out. Mandy got some hits off some work cards, but the prints she matched weren't taken from any place that would have been in the path of our body snatcher. Just the same, Vega is checking the names out."

"So, really, no new leads?"

Nick shook his head. "No, not yet. Let's get back to what you two were doing. Maybe it can give us something. Any ideas about the killer at all?"

He watched as Warrick fingered the crime scene photos of the dead infants. "Well, he has to be well educated. For someone to kill two infants at the hospital and go unnoticed, he'd have to know his way around security and surveillance. A doctor, maybe? It would certainly give him opportunity."

Nick's eyes shifted as Catherine cut in from Warrick. "Grissom and Greg's murdered prostitute was excised using a scalpel. It's a surgical procedure, and the motel was turned into some sort of operating room. Grissom said the room was sterile, and it isn't exactly the kind of place people come to for comfort or to spend money. It's dirt cheap. The killer had to have sterilized the room himself. If he's a doctor he'd be used to working under sterile conditions."

"Yeah, but I doubt the sterile conditions were to benefit her. He was probably more worried about himself."

"Nick, if we're looking at a doctor, Doris Fletcher's murder could have been planned in advance. If the doctor worked at Desert Palms and was there when Lester Fletcher died, he had five days to plan Doris Fletcher's murder. He could have used that opportunity to plan the murder and fit it into his timeline."

"He'd could have also been aware of the birth of the twins. If he was aware twins were going to be born in advance, he could have planned it and just waited for the birth to occur."

Catherine's face shot in Nick's direction. He looked back at her, cocking his head to the side. Catherine looked from him to Warrick. "Rick, the twins' births were planned C-sections. They were scheduled way in advance."

"Damn!"

Nick dropped the file in his hand. He looked at the other faces mirroring his own look of disbelief. Even Catherine seemed bowled over as the pieces began to fit. "We running with this?"

"I think we have to check it out."

He nodded and swallowed as he realized something else. "Guys, if we're searching for one killer, and he's killing at the rate of one person every two days, somebody else is going to be murdered tomorrow."


	14. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

_Wednesday, September 6__th__, 2006  
__8:09 PM_

Sara moved through her apartment feeling well rested, gathering things to get ready to return to the lab. She picked up her cell phone, feeling a little guilty at how she'd left things with Grissom, bailing on him after being gone for days. She'd been so tired and while she'd been waiting days to spend some time with him, all she could think about was her conversation with Dr. Mian and getting some rest before returning to the lab. As she walked out to her car, she opened her phone and hit the speed dial, smiling when he answered on the first ring. "Hey Griss, sorry about earlier. I was so bagged I couldn't think of anything but sleep."

"_You did get some rest?_"

"Yeah. I'm going to head into the lab now. Where are you?"

"_At home. I'll be at the lab shortly."_

"So, I'll see you then?"

"_Yeah._"

She hung up the phone, climbing into the car and heading into the lab.

Catherine, Nick and Warrick were all in one layout room, heads stooped over the table, looking through piles of evidence. Sara walked into the room, raising an eyebrow. "What's going on?"

"We're looking through the evidence in all of the cases."

"Okay. How long have you been at it?"

She could tell from the look on Warrick's face that they'd been at it for awhile. He'd probably been at it since he'd gotten her voice mail. Warrick sighed. "All afternoon."

"And have you gotten anywhere? Any id on our vic yet?"

"Not yet."

"Sara," Sara looked over at Catherine. "Do you want to explain to us what this professor said to you today?"

She took a deep breath, wondering how she could break it down. "Alright, his basic theory is that these murders are about ritual cleansing, but that there is no culture that will tie them together. It's more a comment on our society."

"Explain."

"Alright, Dr. Mian suggests that the killer is operating as sort of a magician, or maybe a witch if it would be easier to understand, someone who operates outside of society and profanes the values of that society. Anyways, this killer who fancies himself an ancient magician, is operating outside the cult of society by bringing in elements from societies that he values, cleansing rituals."

"Magician, not sociologist? The cell found at Grissom and Greg's scene was registered to Emile Durkheim. Are we forgetting that?"

"Sociologist turned magician?" She frowned, wondering if that statement sounded right, even to her own ears.

"He's symbolically cleansing Vegas?"

"Commenting on the values he sees as profane in Vegas and profaning the values of Vegas society."

"So why a widow and two newborn infants?"

"Maybe he's buying into all those primitive notions of cleanliness himself, or maybe it's a way to draw attention to the other crimes. He isn't picking and choosing which values to profane, he's profaning all Vegas's values, even the ones we see as positive, the right to life. What do we know about the victims in each case?"

Catherine pulled out a file and placed it on the top. "Grissom and Greg's victim. Mutilated prostitute."

"That one is obvious."

Catherine pulled out another file, throwing it on top. "Nick's and my vic, recent widow, burned alive over her husband's corpse."

"Sati. The woman is unclean because her soul is tied to her husbands. Ritual cleanliness, but not a target on Vegas society."

"He actually has to see these things as impure. The killer has to be delusional, thinking he is this magician, or whatever you called him, Sar."

"Okay, Nick, apart from her husband dying, any idea why he chose her? Other than opportunity perhaps? If he does believe in her impurity, he actually has to believe her soul is tied to her husband."

Catherine picked up the file, opening it. "I spoke to the family, friends, every one of them spoke of how close Lester and Doris Fletcher were, how they seemed to just complete each other. They said that when Lester died, it was like Doris died with him."

"Soul mates?"

"If that was why Doris Fletcher was targeted, the killer had to have known the couple."

"The obituary, anything in it about soul mates, or that would suggest it?"

"I'll check it out." Nick was off and out of the room, leaving her behind with Catherine and Warrick.

"Next victim?"

"Yours and Warrick's. I.D. unknown?" Sara nodded. "Stoned to death."

"There could be many possible motives for that. Dead end until we get an id."

"That just leaves us with what might be our first victims. The Madison infants."

"African American newborns, smothered. Likely motive, the correction of an anomaly. What do we have for evidence?"

"Shoe tread, a men's new balance walking shoe, size 11. No actual discernable tire treads, but Nick and I did get a wheel base at our scene. Large wheel base, likely a truck. Nick and I also identified several unknown prints from the funeral home. We have all the murder weapons, maternity ward blanket, two scalpels, larch logs and jute rope and your rocks."

"Warrick, what about that blood and skin tag you got from the boulder?"

"Yeah, Wendy paged me the results. Two sets of blood, one set, female, matching the victim, the other male, unknown. The skin tag matches the male unknown DNA. Wendy is running the unknown through CODIS."

"So we have the killer's DNA, but unless CODIS kicks up something, nothing to lead us to him."

"As of right now…"

"Yeah, look, I'm going to keep looking this over. You and Warrick should probably take a break, get some food or something."

"Yeah, I'm getting hungry and I should probably call Tina."

"Later," she called, her head looking down at all the files on the table, as Catherine and Warrick exited the room.

She continued to sort through each file, searching for any common piece of evidence. There were quiet footsteps behind her and goose bumps appearing on her arm. Grissom was just behind her, looking over her shoulder. "How's it coming?"

"Well, we may have the killer's DNA, but I cannot find one piece of evidence connecting these murders."

Grissom stepped a little closer, his chest touching her back. She watched as he reached in front of her, picking up a file. "Well, let's keep looking."

Sara continued to search through the files, silently handing off and receiving files from Grissom, working in quiet sync with each other. Her head lifted when she saw Nick stride into the room holding a newspaper. "Hey Grissom, Sara, Lester Fletcher's obituary. Third line announced the passing of a soul mate, father, brother and friend."

"Great. Anyone could have read the obituary, read the word soul mate, saw the funeral notice announcing which home was taking care of it, and noticed that the funeral wasn't until the following week, after the long weekend."

"So, we're back to anyone."

"Yeah."

"Where are Catherine and Warrick?"

"They're getting a rest and some food before shift."

"Nick, it would probably be a good idea for you to do the same." Sara looked over at Grissom, raising an eyebrow at his suggestion.

"Yeah, I will. You guys want to go for some food?"

"I'm good Nicky. I at before I came in."

"Griss?"

"I just got in, Nick. I am well rested and well fed."

"Alright then, see you guys later."

"Bye."

Nick left. Sara glanced at Grissom, watching as he was already immersed back into the evidence. She joined him, reestablishing the same quiet harmonic mode as they'd been working in before.

_Thursday, September 7__th__, 2006  
__8:34 AM_

Nick finished the shift, logging in the last piece of evidence in an armed robbery he'd been gathering evidence in all night. He checked his watch and then checked the lab's board, looking to see if any unusual murders had been called in yet that morning. He thought of the realization he'd had the afternoon before, that if the murders were connected, another person was going to die that day. He hadn't heard of any unusual activity yet, and that left him feeling anxious and antsy. He'd check in with Sara, see what they had, and hope some piece of evidence would come out that would lead them to finding the killer before the next murder occurred.

_11:16 AM_

She was still looking over the evidence, having stopped only once for food, Grissom telling her they needed to slow down and take a minute to refuel before looking at the evidence again with somewhat clearer eyes. She searching for anything that would begin to help her see where to look to find their killer. They only had so much time before he would strike again. Sara wanted to be wrong about this, more than she wanted to be wrong about almost anything before in her life. She wanted to believe that there wouldn't be another murder that day, but everything in her told her that unless she found something, there would be.

_3:17 PM_

Warrick looked at the page in his hand. CODIS kicked out nothing on the male DNA. One hope dashed and the frustration that came of it was distracting him from his and Tina's mutual apology. All he could think about was the case and the victims he investigated, two infants smothered and a young girl stoned to death. Tina kissed him behind the ear and he stood up, running a hand through his hair. "Sorry, baby, I can't do this right now. My mind is back at the lab. I have to go in." He ignored the look she sent him in reply, but the words that accompanied that look were not as easy to disregard.

_6:38 PM_

Grissom hated it when killers left no evidence, leaving nowhere for him to investigate and fearing the killer may just be smarter than him. Almost as frustrating, was when the killer did leave evidence, but only minute amounts, evidence where there was no context and did not lead to anything. Before Sara had announced that they possible had the murderer's DNA, he'd feared the murderer could be more intelligent than him, playing with them by calling himself Emile Durkheim. Now, the killer had made a mistake; he'd left his DNA behind, but Grissom still didn't know where to look and it was beyond frustrating. There was the realization that they may need another scene to gather more evidence and hopefully find some connecting factor. He'd told dispatch to call him with any unusual murders, but there had been no calls. The day had been as quiet as the night before.

_10:42 PM_

The minutes and second had passed by so slowly all day long. There were no murders and Catherine was beginning to feel as though there wouldn't be one. Upset that she let herself get talked into believing there was a connection, she slammed her locker door shut. Grissom appeared in the locker room entrance. "Catherine, we've got a scene. A body was found burnt to a stake out by Lake Mead. Take Nick. You two have had the most rest. Call if you need any more help."

She looked at him, taking the slip. _Shit,_ she thought. "Where's Nick?"

"I just saw him in the break room. Sofia meet you at the scene."

"Great. I'd hoped we were all wrong."

"So did I, Catherine."


	15. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

_Thursday, September 7__th__, 2006  
__11:33 PM_

The crime scene was a mess of photographers, reporters, police and morbidly curious bystanders when they arrived. Nick approached the crime scene tape, kit in hand and held it up for Catherine to duck under before following. In front of them, a body, charred and burnt beyond recognition, head tilted down, was suspended on a stake. Nick watched as Catherine winced before moving towards the body. She glanced around at the scene surrounding the tape. "The media got here fast. Look at them circling the scene. Nick, take some shots of the crowd. Maybe our killer hung around. Check in with Sofia while you're at it. I'll talk to David about the body."

He glanced at the body, feeling a shiver run over him. "Yeah."

Nick picked up his camera, selecting groups of observers as targets and began taking photographs. He moved towards Sofia, taking more pictures as he moved. When he approached the detective he noticed she'd lost some color. "Hey, you alright?"

"Yeah. It's just, we've all been to some pretty messed up scenes lately, hard to take in. What happened to the days when a murder was just a murder, gun shot wound to the chest, stab wound to the abdomen…"

"Tell me about it."

"Don't get me wrong, I mean, those were still murders, but this scene and the scene I investigated with Grissom and Greg last week, they're so horrific and so planned."

"I get what you mean. Catherine and my last scene was a woman burnt alive over her husband's corpse. This is our second burn victim within a week."

Sofia shuttered. "I heard. I also heard that Grissom suspects all these murders might be connected."

Nick lifted his camera, taking more photos. "At this point, we all suspect it. Every murder has occurred two days after the last." He turned taking a photo of Catherine next to the body. "Sofia, the body looks like it's suspended between two stakes. The call out said it was someone burnt to a stake."

"Actually, that's a ladder. The victim was suspended on a ladder and burnt to death."

He put down his camera and turned to Sofia. "You're kidding?"

"No. If you move closer, you can see the steps."

"What the hell? Any witnesses?"

"First witnesses saw the blaze, nothing before that. They figured it was a group of college kids having a party. And guess who found the body?"

"A group of college kids, having a party."

"Right. They thought it was another party, went to check it out and found the vic burning on the stake. They said when they first arrived, the victim was screaming. They tried to put out the fire, but it kept burning…"

"The killer must have used an accelerant."

Sofia nodded. "Anyways, the screams died and they were finally able to put out the fire, but by that time the victim was dead."

Nick nodded.

"They said they used a lot of sand and a lot of water to try to douse the fire, so a lot of the evidence…"

"Destroyed. We've seen that plenty of times before, rescue efforts…"

"It would have been worth it had they been able to save the victim."

"For sure."

"Nick." Nick spun and came face to face with Catherine.

"Yeah?"

"I'm going to give Grissom a call and get one more hand on this. Do you want to help with the collection or interview witnesses?"

Nick's eyes scanned the crowd of people he'd taken a picture of before glancing back towards the victim, blackened skin hanging off the corpse. The image of Doc Robbins peeling layers of skin from the last burn victim still hadn't left his head. "I'll stick with the crowd," he said, telling himself it was because his natural empathy made him good with people. "What did Super Dave have to say?"

"The body is female. His best estimate is that she burnt to death. He can't give us an accurate TOD because of the heat of the body, but death probably occurred within the last two hours."

"Coincides with what witnesses said."

Catherine looked at him, her eyebrows furrowed in question.

"The victim was still screaming when they found her."

"Dear, lord. I might have thrown up too."

"Sorry?"

"There are several pools of vomit near the victim. If the sight didn't cause it, I bet the screams did."

"Yeah, them and the smell. I guess I'll start interviewing witnesses. Where are they?""

Beside him, Sofia began to look around, shaking her head. "Over there." She nodded towards the crime scene tape. "Someone from the media has gotten to them."

Nick glanced at Catherine, shaking his head, before following Sofia towards a young twenty-something speaking with a reporter. "I'll get the guy with the reporter. Let the others know I'll be coming around and getting shoe impressions from them, and asking them to volunteer their DNA? Explain why?"

"I'm on it."

"Thanks." He moved away from Sofia, approaching the young man speaking to the reporter.

"Man, we didn't know what was burning, but it was really ripe. It smelled awful and it was making this noise, this hollow screaming, almost like a whistling or a bird calling or some kind of animal dying. It didn't sound human. It was like this ghostly, almost primal sound. It was sick. Then, flames shot up and kind of thinned out and through the fire we could see the head, glowing red and staring at us, just burning. Man, I thought we were in a horror movie or someone was playing this insane joke on us. Scared the shit out of me."

"Excuse me," Nick cut in, leading the man away from the reporter. "I'm Nick Stokes. I'm with the crime lab. Mind if I ask you a few questions?"

"Uh, yeah, sure."

"Can I get your name?"

"Brian. Brian Collier."

"Alright Brian, you found the body."

Nick watched as Brian paled slightly. "Yeah, me and the guys."

"What are you and the guys doing partying on a Thursday night?"

Brian smiled, a small, slightly smug grin. The color returned to his face. "It's kind of a team bonding thing. I play on the rugby team at WLVU."

"Team bonding?" Nick asked with raised eyebrows.

"Slash rookie initiation."

"Ah, I see. Are you a rookie? Is that why you thought it was a joke?"

"No man, that's why I didn't get it. I thought if we were going to play a joke on the rookies, I'd have known about it. Besides, some of the fourth years would never let us play a joke like this."

"What year are you in?"

"Third."

"You've never seen a joke like this before."

"No way, man. Look, dude, the rookies usually have to run around the lake nude and stuff like that."

"Harmless stuff."

"Right."

"Alright, then why are you doing it out at the lake?"

The young man shifted on his feet. "Andy, our scrum half, his parents have a cabin here. We like to use it for our beginning of the year party, because well, to have the initiation in the dorms, plus all the alcohol…"

"Yeah, I get it. Why on a Thursday night?"

"We play on weekends."

Nick studied the young man. Brian Collier shifted on his feet again. "Look, man, I swear to god, our initiation is harmless, well mostly, but nothing like this."

"Alright, when you found the body, did you see anything else?"

"No, dude, just a fire. It was going good when we got here."

"You didn't see anyone suspicious? No suspicious vehicles?"

"Nah, just a fire. We thought it was another party, thought we'd check it out."

"First thing you noticed?"

Brian Collier's face paled again. "The fire was like, straight up. I would have thought flames that high, the fire would be wider, but it was totally vertical. Then, it was the smell. Nasty. I thought I was going to hurl, and the sound, it was sick, not like an awesome sick, but really, really freaky. I can't even describe it. It was like a squeaky quiet screaming. It'll be fucking haunting me, man. That and the face. When I saw the face, I did puke, but you know if I hadn't been drinking, I might have…"

Nick nodded. "Sure, right. How many of threw up?"

"I think most of us did. All the rookies for sure, but they've had a little more to drink than the rest of us."

Nick glanced towards the group of co-eds with Sofia. They all had serious, somber faces. "Scared sober now, I'll bet."

"Dude, you don't even know."

He turned back to Brian Collier. "Alright Brian, you saw the body and realized it was human, then what?"

"It was still alive, man; we tried to put out the fire. We threw dirt on it, and then sand on it, some of the guys ran to the lake and got water, but it just kept burning. The water just evaporated from the heat. The screams faded and we were still trying to douse it. By the time we did, it was too late. Shit, if the rookies had helped…"

"They didn't?"

"Not at first. They just stood there, completely pale, man, and watched. I think they still thought it was a joke, part of their initiation. I would have thought the same thing. They were too stunned to even move. We all were at first. Aaron was the one who snapped us out of it and began yelling at us, telling us what to do."

"Who called 911?"

"Andy. None of us had our cells with us. They'd been banned from the party. Andy had to run back to his place. The moment Aaron jumped into action, Andy was sprinting towards the cabin."

"Thanks Brian. I'm going to need to get a shoe impression so that I can eliminate your tread from all the others we collect off the ground."

"Yeah, sure."

"And would you be willing to give us a DNA sample so that we can match it to your vomit?"

"You can do that?" Nick nodded. "Cool, yeah, whatever you need."

"Thank you."

Nick opened his kit, taking out a swab. He swabbed Brian Collier's mouth and moved to take a shoe impression. "Mr. Stokes?"

Nick looked up. "Yeah."

"Listen, that Detective Curtis…?"

Nick shook his head. "Out of your league, dude."

"Right." The young man nodded.

Nick continued, finishing up with Brian Collier and moving through the rugby team. One rookie puked again, the vomit landing on Nick's boot.

"Oh, man, I'm really sorry."

He looked down at the puddle of puke, splashed over his boot and frowned. "Yeah, uh, don't worry about it."

"Are you sure this isn't a joke, because it would have been a really good one, fucked up, but it totally got me. I'm still shaking."

"Does this look like a joke? All these police, the coroner…"

"No man, but seriously, you sure?"

"No joke. That body on the pole is human. That woman was burnt alive."

"Christ. I was sure it was a joke. I thought it was really fucked up, but a joke I could have been able to deal with. This, shit, I don't know what to do with this. I still hear the noise coming out of it. It's going haunt me."

"I'm sure WLVU will provide you with a counselor if you need someone to talk to. It might be a good idea…"

"Yeah…maybe…"

"Did you see anything suspicious before or after? A person, a car maybe?"

"No, only the fire. We figured the vets set it and were playing with us. We followed them here, playing along, you know?"

"Yeah. Listen, Jarrett, thanks for your time and if you need someone to talk to, you should think about a counselor. I can tell you from experience, you shouldn't let this kind of stuff sit. If you don't want to see a counselor and you still need someone, here." Nick pulled out a card from his kit and handed it to the young man. "Here's my card. If you need to, give me a call."

"Thanks."

"No problem. Look, I've got to continue on but my number is there, alright?"

"Yeah, alright."

Nick nodded and moved away, seeing a young man sitting away from everybody, staring out at the lake. He glanced at Sofia and nodded towards the boy. She joined him as he approached them.

"Andy?"

The boy turned their heads and looked up. "Yeah."

"I'm Nick Stokes; I'm with the crime lab. This is Detective Curtis. We'd like to ask you a few questions."

"Alright."

"Andy, the party was at your cabin?"

"Yeah, my parent let me use it every year with the promise that it will be clean and nothing will be damaged."

"And you're able to keep that promise?"

"Yeah. We know how to keep the guys in line. We mostly do everything outside anyways. Usually it's a great place to have a team party, lots of space, gives the boys plenty of room to crash."

"Where is your cabin?"

Andy pointed towards a group of trees. "Through those trees, about five hundred yards maybe."

"Spend a lot of time out here?"

"Quite a bit, why?"

"You know the area. Anything suspicious going on tonight?"

"Well, the fire. I knew there wasn't any sort of fire pit over here, and the fire was just off the beach. I guess that's what made me curious and wanting to check it out. I thought some local kids might have been having a beach party, made their own pit…"

"Any vehicles that seemed out of place?"

"No, but my parents cabin is treed in, like this area. We couldn't see a vehicle unless it was in our yard. We might have heard some, not that I can remember, but if we did, I would have assumed it was just locals."

"You were the one who made the 911 call?"

"Yeah, I had to run back to my place to make it. I asked for an ambulance because when I left the guys at the fire, the person in the fire was still alive."

"You said it was a person burned to a stake."

"That's what it looked like. We couldn't tell it was a ladder with all the flames. Who would even think of a ladder anyways? It looked like a body standing upright in a fire. I only saw it for a second. I took off to make the phone call before any of us got a real good look at it."

"Alright, that's fine." Nick moved to reassure the young man. He glanced around at the scores of people still milling about the scene. "The ambulance attract all this attention?"

"I guess. Them and the police and the fire truck."

"Sure. Listen, did you call your parents, tell them what happened?"

"Yeah, my mom is meeting Aaron at the hospital. He got burnt trying to get at the body. My dad is on his way out here. So is our coach."

"Good. You did a good job Andy. I need you to do one more thing. I need to take your shoe impressions so that I can eliminate it from all the others. I'd also like you to volunteer your DNA."

"Yeah, whatever you need."

"Thank you."

Nick quickly worked, collecting samples off the young man. When he was finished, he pulled Sofia away. "Sofia, I want to get to the hospital and see what I can get from Aaron MacDonald. Do you want to come with me?"

"I think I better stay around here. Maybe call Vartann and ask him to meet you there."

"In that case, can I borrow your car? I came in with Catherine and she needs the denali to transport evidence. You can get a ride back with her."

Sofia chuckled. "Yeah, okay. It had better be returned looking the exact same though. I don't want to find any murals or decals painted on the side."

"Not funny. My truck was stolen."

"I'm only joking around, Nick. Here are the keys." She held out the keys and he took them.

"Thanks. I'll let Catherine know what's going on."

_Friday, September 8__th__, 2006  
__12:17 AM_

Catherine watched as David closed the body back, fastening the zipper. The body was lifted into the coroner's van and out of sight. After forty minutes of photographing the woman's body and helping David cut the ropes to lift the body down, she was more than relieved to have the body taken away. She felt nauseous, only slightly, as after years of experience, she'd mostly gotten used to these sorts of scenes. It had only been a few days before when she was standing over a different charred woman's corpse. Still, her stomach wasn't completely immune and she had to suppress the gag reflex that came when she'd touched the corpse and her gloved hand had stuck, momentarily, to the raw skin beneath the peeling, burnt outer shell. Even thinking about it…

Nick approached her and she turned her face up to his, wiping her forehead on her arm. "Hey, what's up?"

"One of the witnesses tried to get at the burning body and I guess, burnt himself. He's at the hospital. I'm going to go and collect off of him and interview him. You okay if I leave you?"

"Yeah, Warrick should be here soon."

"Warrick? Not Grissom?"

"Grissom was called to one of Swing's scenes. Bugs, they want him to do a timeline. Greg went out to a scene and Sara's still pouring over those files. Grissom said he'd send Rick. You got all the other shoe impressions and DNA?"

"I put them in the denali."

"What are you taking to the hospital?"

"Sofia's car. She'll need a ride back."

"Alright. Call me with an update."

"Will do."

Catherine glanced down at Nick, seeing chunks of vomit on his boot and on the hem of his pants. "Nick, did you step in the evidence?"

"No, it landed on me. One of the witnesses threw up on my boot."

Catherine bit back a laugh. Nick eyed her and turned away. When his footsteps moved away from her, she let the laugh out. She turned back to the pile of wood and took a deep breath. Her legs were sore from crouching and the lingering odor of burnt skin was getting to her. She took a few more photos while bent over and stood up, moving slowly around the pole, her flashlight pointed at the ground. She crouched back down, fingering the tinder, running her glove over it.

"Hey, Cath."

Her head moved around, and she found herself staring up into the green eyes of Warrick Brown. "Hi."

"Another tough one. You doing all right?"

Was she alright? She was tired and sore and the brutality of her past few crime scenes was catching up with her. Still, she'd managed to put it all from her mind, fatigue the only thing lingering. "Yeah, just focusing on the evidence."

"Right." The light from Warrick's flashlight moved up and down. "Is that a ladder?"

"Yes. The victim was hung on the ladder, tied at the wrists and ankles. The ladder and surrounding timber lit up around her."

"Ouch. What do you make of that?"

Catherine glanced up at the ladder, the image of the body hung from it visible in her mind. "I don't know."

"How did the ladder stay upright?"

"I'm not sure. Maybe it's buried deep into the dirt. When we dig it out, we'll have a better idea."

"Right. Are you going to get all these cadets to dig?"

"That's what they're here for. They'll have to wait until I finish up though."

"Yeah. So, where do you need me?"

"Well," she began, standing up and stretching her back, "I haven't gotten very far. David just took away the body. Nick collected shoe impressions and DNA from all of the witnesses. You can begin by bagging all of the vomit around here, then begin working on casting the shoe treads."

"Nice."

Catherine snickered at Warrick's sarcasm.

"What's Nick doing?"

"He just left, went to the hospital. One of the people who found the body tried to get at it and burnt himself. Nick went to collect off of him and interview him at the same time."

"Of course he did. And he left all of the vomit for me to bag up."

Catherine let out a short laugh. "What's the matter, Warrick?"

"Nothing. I guess I better get started."

"Yeah, there are twelve pools of vomit to collect." Warrick grimaced and Catherine gave him a sympathetic glance. "If it makes you feel better, one of the pools will surround Nick's boot print."

"No way."

"Yeah. One of the witnesses threw up on him."

"Nice. That does make me feel better. Thank you, Catherine."

Catherine laughed, crouching back down. She began to take more photographs, shining her light on the ground surrounding the ladder. Behind the ladder, she found what appeared to be a small, shallow trench, about one inch wide and a half an inch deep. Her flashlight followed the trench, seeing that it led away from the ladder, towards the sand. "Warrick, come here. Take a look at this."

Warrick was next to her, crouching down, the light from his flashlight joining hers.

"What do you make of this?"

"Where does it lead?"

"I'm not sure."

The two criminalists stood and followed the trench, lights fixed on the ground in front of them. The trench led them to the sand of the beach and then veered off to the trees and finally ended at a gravel road. "Warrick, one set of shoe impressions in the dirt here."

"Yeah and I'll bet they belong to the steps that tracked through the sand. Too bad we couldn't pick up the treads in the sand, just to eliminate any doubt. I'll come back and cast these."

"There are a few different sets of tire treads. We can get a few makes and models, narrow down our search a little, cross reference with the tire width Nick and I got off our last scene." She snapped multiple pictures of each set of treads. Catherine let her camera drop to her chest. "You're going to be busy."

"What do you think of the trench?"

"Well, we think accelerant was used on the fire. What if the killer dug a trench, filled it with accelerant and started the fire from back here?"

"It would give him time to get away in case somebody saw the blaze go up immediately and decided to check it out. And, a vehicle wouldn't be seen driving away from the fire. It's also safer to light a little accelerant at the beginning of a trail than to be standing over a pile of wood doused in it."

"I'll collect all of the dirt, rocks and sand around the trench. Hodges can test for an accelerant. If we're lucky, we might find a trace that hasn't burnt completely away."

"Dig deep."

"Right."

Catherine continued to move around, scanning the dark road with the light of her flashlight. She moved back towards the trench, slowly moving over the ground and illuminating the area. She bent down, getting a closer look at the ground around the trench. "Warrick, I think I found something."

"What is it?" Warrick moved beside her and she shone her flashlight over it.

Catherine snapped a picture. "Somebody traced some sort of symbol into the sand. Recognize it?"

"No, but let's put it into context. It's got to be part of the murder, right?"

"Likely."

"And we think this murder is connected to the others. It has the same freak factor."

"Two days after the last; it's connected."

"Alright, everything the killer has done so far is symbolic of something, agreed?"

"Agreed."

"So what's this murder symbolic of?"

Catherine thought back to the scene, trying to find anything that would help her out with Warrick's question. "Somebody burnt on a ladder? I don't know. Grissom told me that someone was burnt to a stake, which would lead me to think of witchcraft, but burning somebody on a ladder?"

"Yeah, got me too."

Catherine studied the symbol, taking pictures of the circle and intertwined with four arcs meeting at their end points, from every angle. "We'll show it to Grissom or Sara. Fifty bucks says one of them will know the symbol."

"That's a sucker bet."

Catherine stood up, facing him. "Alright, pick your pony," she challenged.

"Between Grissom and Sara? They'll both know it."

"Afraid to bet, Warrick?"

"Alright, Sara. She knows way too much about this stuff."

"You're betting on the underdog. My money's on Grissom. He knows way too much about everything, especially weird stuff like this."

"I'd say the odds are about fifty-fifty."

"No way. Sixty-forty in my favor."

"Are you willing to put your sixty up against my forty?"

"Even money."

Warrick laughed. "You'd think I was betting Nick."

"We'll see. You better get started on collecting that vomit. I have sand and gravel to collect."

Warrick groaned, walking away from her and back towards the main scene. Catherine followed, ready to get back at the collection. The lightness of the last few minutes had gone far into restoring some of her energy.


	16. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

_Friday, September 8__th__, 2006  
__1:22 AM_

Vartann was waiting just outside the emergency room doors when Nick arrived. Nick strolled towards the detective and walked along side him as they made their way into the building, past the throng of reporters trying to get word from Aaron McDonald. Vartann led Nick to where Aaron was being looked at. A doctor was taking off the bandages the EMTs had put on while a woman was sitting on a chair next to the bed. Nick guessed that the woman was probably Andy Sagan's mom. Nick stepped into the room. "Aaron McDonald?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm Nick Stokes. I'm with the Las Vegas Crime lab. This is Detective Vartann. We'd like to ask you some questions."

"Alright."

"Wait," the woman spoke up, standing. "Do you have to do this right now? From what I understand, he's been through enough."

"No m'am, but the sooner we're able to piece together what happened, the better."

"Mrs. Sagan," Aaron interrupted. "It's okay. I'd like to get this over with."

"Actually, Mrs. Sagan, I'd like to ask you a couple of questions as well. We can start with you if you'd like."

"That's fine."

"You are Andy Sagan's mother, correct."

"Yes."

"And you and your husband let the boys hold their rookie initiation at your cabin every year?"

"The past couple of years. Mr. Stokes, I know what you're thinking, rugby culture and all that, but the boys are good. Whatever happened, I know that they aren't responsible for it. I know they may do some stupid things with regards to initiation, but Andrew has always been honest with me and he's promised that they would never do anything to hurt any of his teammates, physically or emotionally. They're smart boys. Aaron is an honors student…"

"M'am," Vartann cut in. "Nick isn't implying anything. We're just collaborating the boys' stories, that's all."

"Alright, yes we let them use the cabin. Anything else?"

Nick smiled. "Just a couple more questions. How long have you owned the property?"

"Going on about ten years now."

"The beach just north of your property, who owns that?"

"It's government land."

"But it's not a public beach"

"No. Some of the locals use it, but it's not a public beach. It's too small and too treed in."

"Is there ever much activity there?"

"Not really. People mostly go to the public beaches. Every once in a while we'll see a party there or a couple of people camping, but it's normally a very quiet spot."

"Thank you." Nick turned to Aaron and looked over the doctor's shoulder as the doctor finished removing the bandages. "That looks painful."

Aaron shrugged. Nick took a bag and held it open for the doctor. The doctor automatically put the bandages into the bag. Nick sealed the bag and handed it to Vartann.

"So Aaron, I heard you got everyone going, trying to put out the fire."

"I guess."

"Word is you jumped in immediately."

Aaron turned his palms up and Nick glanced at them, wincing. Aaron stared down at his hands. "Not soon enough. It didn't help any. That person still died."

"Oh Aaron," came the mournful voice of Andy Sagan's mother. Nick moved his sympathetic glance from Aaron to her. It was clear she hadn't heard the entire story yet, but just enough to keep her protective.

He turned back to Aaron. "But man, you were quick to action."

"Well, when we heard that sound, those hollow screams, I knew the person was still alive. I just tried to put out the fire."

"Aaron, my god," Mrs. Sagan cut in again. She moved from her chair to the bed, placing her hand on Aaron's leg and trying to stay out of the doctor's way.

Nick glanced back down at the boy's hands. "That how you got those?"

Aaron turned his hands over, staring at them. "Yeah, well, sort of. I kept trying to get at the person. Once the fire was out, I tried to take down the body but it was too hot. All I managed to do was burn myself."

Nick looked at the young man, shaking his head in amazement and admiration. The young man showed a lot of courage and composure for his age. He smiled. "What year are you in, Aaron?"

"Fourth."

"Graduating after this year. What are you taking?"

"Batchelor of Science. Why?"

"I was just thinking about your quick thinking."

"Yeah, well, I was to become a doctor. I took my MCATs about a month ago."

"Yeah? How'd you do?"

Aaron shrugged. "Good I guess. Low forties."

"Good score."

The doctor looked up. "It's a very good score."

"Good for you. Listen, I just need a couple more things. I'm going to need DNA and shoe impressions."

Mrs. Sagan turned to him. "Why?"

"We only want to rule out any of the evidence the boys left behind so that we can isolate anything that didn't come from the boys."

"Why DNA?"

"Did you throw up, Aaron?"

"No."

"Alright, but we'd like a sample anyways."

"You have his burnt skin and the bandages his hands were first wrapped in."

"Yes m'am, but we can't get DNA off of dead skin."

"It's okay, Mrs. Sagan. They can take my DNA."

Nick glanced again at Aaron's hands. "I'd also like to take your prints, but your hands are too injured at the moment. I might be able to get enough of a print off your dead skin here, but if I can't, would you be up to having me come back and take them in a few days?"

"Yeah, sure."

Mrs. Sagan spun of him. "Wait a second, Mr. Stokes, why do you need his finger prints?"

"M'am, Aaron touched that pole trying to get at the victim. His skin could have burned off and his print could have seared into the pole. It's the same as the other samples he's giving. We just want to eliminate them so that we can isolate and focus on the evidence that doesn't come from the boys." He turned back to Aaron, glancing briefly back at Mrs. Sagan. "Aaron, are you the only one who touched the victim?"

"Yes."

"Alright," Nick glanced back quickly at Mrs. Sagan again before turning back to Aaron. "I'm also going to need your cloths. Doctor, can you give him something to borrow and change into?"

The doctor nodded. Mrs. Sagan turned to Aaron. "Andy wanted to come here once David and your coach got to the lake. I'll call him and ask him to bring you some of his cloths to change into."

"Thanks."

"Will you be okay while I step out?"

"Yeah. I need to change into the hospital gown anyways."

The woman nodded and Nick smiled. He and Vartann walked out of the room with her. "M'am I know you're being protective, but we're just trying to find out who did this. It's terrible what Aaron and your son and the rest of the boys went through and we just want to make sure we catch the person responsible so that no one else has to go through it."

"Alright."

Nick smiled softly. "M'am, if you want to make that phone call, I'd ask someone if there is a side door you can step out of. There are a lot of reporters out front."

Mrs. Sagan smiled for the first time. "Thank you."

Nick nodded and watched her walk towards a nurse. He and Vartann waited until Aaron had changed, then moved back into the room. Nick picked up Aaron's cloths, placing each item into a separate bag. Aaron's shirt was damp and Nick furrowed his brow. If the shirt got wet hauling water to put the fire out, he assumed the heat from the fire would have dried it when Aaron tried to get at the body. "Aaron, why is your shirt wet?"

"I had my hands and my arms in the lake until the paramedics arrived."

His face relaxed and he let out a soft laugh. "Good thinking." He sealed the bags of evidence. "Thank you, Aaron. I'll be in touch about your prints. Hopefully we can get enough off of your skin, but if not, I'll see you in a few days. Take care of those hands. If you need anything, anything at all, you can reach me at the Crime Lab."

"Thanks."

He smiled again, nodding. He left the doctor to re-bandage Aaron's hands and carried out the evidence with Vartann.

_10:19 AM_

There was a slight tingling sensation that surged through her body in his presence. When he walked into a room, she'd always felt him before even seeing him. It had been like that from the beginning and hadn't changed in the seven years she'd known him, so when she felt his essence in the conference room, Sara immediately lifted her head from the files in front of her and turned to the door, a small smile gracing her features. "Hey."

Grissom stood in the doorway, a small smile of his own, lighting his face. "Hey."

"How did the timeline go?"

"Good. I'm finished."

"Already?"

Grissom nodded. "Yeah. The bugs were still in the early stages of development. The pupae were only beginning to form, so it didn't take long." He crossed the room, pulling up a chair next to her and shifting it so that the two chairs were nearly touching and their thighs grazed. Sara felt the warmth of his fingers on her spine as he leaned right into her. "Are you still looking through this?"

"Yeah."

"Have you found anything new?" She shook her head. "Maybe you should take a break. You've been at this all night."

"We don't have time for breaks." Sara winced at her own words and at her tone. She expected him to shift away and maybe scold her but he stayed close, his voice soft. "I know we're working against the clock, Sara, but we've been working against it and going full out for days. You've been looking at the same information over and over. I've looked at it over and over. If we've missed anything, we aren't going to find it with over-tired eyes. Catherine and Warrick will be here soon with evidence to process. Get the rest while you can, Sara."

His palm slid up and down her back in a soothing manner. She leaned into it and sighed, knowing he was right. "I'll catch a nap in the break room."

"You won't get much of a rest there."

"The locker room?"

"No, Sara."

"Your office? I can close the door and the blinds…"

"No, you need some real rest. You don't know how long we'll be going once the evidence begins to pile in."

She sighed again. "You want me to go home."

"Actually, I was hoping you'd follow me to my place."

Her face shot to his, catching his tender expression. She raised an eyebrow and he shrugged. "I sleep better when you're there."

It was one of those moments where he caught her completely off guard and she struggled to breathe let alone respond. Her eyes widened and she searched his face. It had been almost a week since she'd slept with him, between the conference she had attended and the recent string of murders consuming her time. He did look tired. Her own expression became gentle when she found his eyes locked on hers and his expression solemn and sincere. "Okay," she spoke softly and she watched his mouth turn up into a smile. "Help me put all of this away?"

"Yeah."

Their eyes stayed locked for moments before Grissom dropped his hand from her back and shifted his chair away from her. "We better get this cleaned up."

"Yeah." She picked up a pile of notes and held them. "Griss?"

He turned his face to hers and cocked his head.

"I sleep better when I'm there too."

Grissom smiled again and handed her another pile of notes. His fingers lingered on hers and she smiled down at the table. When his fingers left, she began sifting through all of the notes, handing off certain ones belonging to the files Grissom had on his side, to him. Beside her, Grissom did the same, exchanging notes and photos, quietly. They were nearly finished and she was more than ready to go back to his place with him. The sound of footsteps caused her to look up just as she was finishing putting the files together. "Too late," she mumbled under her breath as Catherine and Warrick entered the room. Catherine's eyes flitted between her and Grissom. Catherine raised her eyebrows and Sara glanced quickly towards Grissom. He was still sitting close, but not as close as minutes previous and certainly not close enough to give anything away. She looked back at Catherine, setting the files down on the table. Catherine frowned. "Still looking at that stuff?"

"Just finished. I've gone through those files a million times and I can't find anything new."

"Well, I've got something new." Catherine took a photo from Warrick and slid it onto the table in front of Grissom and her. "Do either of you know what this is?"

Sara glanced at Grissom, meeting his eyes. His face held a slight smirk. Sara bit back her smile as she watched as Grissom turned back towards Catherine and Warrick. "Greg could tell you what this is."

"Greg?" Catherine asked, disbelief evident in her voice. "Why on earth would you think that Greg could tell us?"

"Because it's Norse."

"It's the Nordic symbol meaning 'against witchcraft', Sara cut in, letting her own mouth turn up into a smirk.

"You guys both know what this is then?"

"Yeah," Grissom stated as though it was obvious. Sara frowned, thinking about the symbol. Grissom turned towards her, the same thoughtful frown on his face.

"Well, it gets weirder, Griss," Warrick cut it. "The victim wasn't burned to a stake."

"The victim was burned to a ladder."

Catherine rolled her eyes. "Gil, I hate it when you do that. How did you know?"

"In Scandinavia, the common practice for burning people convicted of witchcraft, was to tie a body to a ladder and swing the ladder onto a burning bonfire."

"The ladder was free standing. The bonfire was built around it. It wasn't swinging over the fire."

Sara scrunched up her face. "Maybe the ladder was only symbolic. To have the ladder swinging over a fire, he'd need something to tie it to. The Nordic and German people often made frame, but that would be a lot of work and require a lot of strength, perhaps too much for one person and swinging the ladder down over the fire certainly would require even more. A tree would risk catching fire and perhaps attracting unwanted attention. If the tree stood alone, it was possible, but then it would really narrow down places where the burning could be staged. I think, combined with the symbol you guys found, the killer thought the use of the ladder would be enough symbolism. Griss?"

"I agree. Do you have an id yet?"

"No."

"Check missing persons against anyone from the Wicca community and possibly of Scandinavian descent. I'd also do a facial reconstruction to verify."

"We'll get on that."

"Sara," Catherine turned to her. "That professor you spoke with?"

"Dr. Mian. Yeah, I'd ask him about this one. He might be able to help you with some of it. Here," she pulled out a card with Anton Mian's information on it, ignoring Grissom's look as she handed it to Catherine. "It has all his numbers on it. I wrote his office hours on the back. I think he has some today, so you should be able to speak with him."

"Thanks." She dropped the file and the rest of the photos on the table. "You guys okay to look at this now? Maybe compare it to all of that." Catherine circled her arm over all of the files on the table. "Nick is comparing shoe treads and we've dropped off all of the other evidence with the labs. We're going to head down to the morgue and see what Doc Robbins has to say."

"Yeah," Sara spoke, picking up the file, mentally preparing herself to go another round.

"Great, thanks."

Catherine and Warrick left the room. Sara turned towards Grissom. "Another rain check?"

Grissom sighed beside her. "Yeah. Promise me you'll get some rest once we look through this though."

"You promise you'll do the same?"

Grissom nodded, taking the file from her and spreading the contents out onto the table. They leaned over the table and began sifting through grotesque photo after grotesque photo.


End file.
